Like All Frozen Things
by Fury me
Summary: Blaine's second year at McKinley is better than his first. He has friends, he has glee club. But who is this new transfer kid? And why does Blaine find him so interesting, even when he seems to be Coach Sylvester's new favourite person?
1. Audition

**AN:** My first Glee multichapter! This is exciting. I've had this prompt stuck in my head ever since I read it, and seriously, it wouldn't let me go. So I thought it would just be easier to just write it than ignore it any longer. This basically starts off from the beginning of Season 2, although I will edit some things here and there. I don't think I have it in me to write 22 chapters.

**Disclaimer:** Ho, the _real_ fun I would have if any of this belong to me :D

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><p><strong>1. Audition<strong>

It's the first day of a new year. McKinley halls are usually loud and busy, but today seems to be louder and busier than most.

Blaine tugs a little on his bowtie and steps quickly towards his locker, new books grasped tightly to his chest. Quick glimpses around show the usual people at their usual places; Rachel is standing next to Finn like a twelve year old beside her show pony (_controllist isn't a word_), Santana and Brittany are leaning casual as anything against each other, Quinn is there too looking so much more demure with soft hair framing her face and casual clothes replacing the sharp red. Blaine waves a little at Tina when she rounds the corner, grins a little when he sees Mike coming up behind her. She had gushed to him about their Asian-Camp fueled romance, and he had to admit seeing them together in person was a lot cuter than receiving nonsensical texts at all hours through the holidays.

He steers clear of the jocks.

Reaching his locker, Blaine unloads the pile in his arms and starts sorting through the things he'll need for the day. He passes his locker on his way to most of his classes, which meant he didn't have to carry half a day's worth of things in a bag. Of course, at McKinley half a day's worth of things barely constituted in more than a single spiral bound notebook, but Blaine still felt pretty lucky for drawing his spot.

He slotted his thin pencil case into his back pocket and tucked two books under his arm, closing his locker just to turn around and find Jacob's microphone in his face.

"When will you Glee Clubbers accept the fact that people hate you?"

Blaine sighed and tried to push past him. "Jacob, please go somewhere else."

Jacob continued, pressing close enough that Blaine could _smell_ him. " - and think you're nothing but a glorified karaoke club - "

Blaine lowered his head, all but elbowing his way past the gossip monger. "Go away, go away," he muttered.

" - designed to make the inventors of autotune millions of dollars?" Jacob dogged his heels, shouting after him even as Blaine disappeared into the boys' toilets in a very last ditch attempt to avoid him.

A low roll of anger simmered in him. Blaine closed his eyes and counted to three. Of all the things to bug him on his very first day, Jacob should really not be one of them. His was a case of the bark being worse than the bite. Blaine just couldn't understand how someone who clearly suffered the same as the rest of them did would join the opposite ranks, expanding the bullying from merely just the physical to the cyber as well.

McKinley's toilets were as clean as you could expect from a public school, which is to say not very. Temper under control, Blaine reached for the door handle again, only to find Jacob still standing there expectantly with microphone outstretched.

Blaine frowned. "Jacob, it doesn't take much courage for people to tear people down behind the safety of anonymity and a computer screen. You know what does take some courage? Standing up and singing about something. So here's a message for everyone that reads your blog. If you're really that angry about what the Glee Club is doing, come and show us what you think. Tell us to our _faces, _or maybe to get us to treat you more seriously, _sing _it - "

The slap of ice and water made him choke on his words. Having been in the middle of a sentence, Blaine inhaled some of the slushie and began coughing badly. The jeering laughter came loud and harsh.

"Welcome back, hobbit!"

Blaine scooped the ice from his face, and squinted at Azimio and Karosfsky's backs. He turned to Jacob, still blinking dye out of his eyes, who had reached out to scoop a particularly solid clump of ice on his shoulder into his mouth.

"That's disgusting," Blaine commented.

"Mm hm," Jacob replied.

* * *

><p>Blaine spent the rest of the day walking around cold. Rooting through his backpack, he had found a spare shirt and pants and even a spare belt, but his jacket had been ruined quite badly and he hadn't packed a spare undershirt. When he turned up to glee club, his muscles were sore from clamping down from the breeze all day, and his fingertips felt numb.<p>

"Hey Bee, are you feeling alright?" Mercedes asked from the corner.

"Just a bit cold, I'll probably take a hot shower when I get home," he replied, voice tight from trying to control the chattering. "How was your summer?"

Mercedes grinned suddenly, sufficiently distracted. "I am all kinds of good. We got a new couch on the weekend, and it is amazing. Then my dad took us all out to dinner..." Blaine tuned out a very little bit, watching Santana and Brittany walk into the room and take two seats at the back. Quinn followed shortly after, but didn't follow the two cheerleaders, taking a very corner seat instead. He frowned a little. "...and then I find out that Mike and Tina are dating now!"

"Oh, so they went official with that?" Blaine risked a glance to Artie's seat in the corner. The boy seemed to be in a very determined conversation with Finn, who was looking a little nervously around.

"Yeah, it was - wait. How did you know that before me?" Mercedes narrowed her eyes.

Blaine grinned easily. "Asian parents. My mom knows theirs, they talk. Tina is a very nice girl apparently, even though she doesn't know quite what to make of the eyeliner and ruffle combination."

Before Mercedes could continue, Mr. Shuester walked in. He held up a sheet of paper. With hardly a greeting, he launched straight into it.

"These are comments from Jacob Ben-Israel's most recent Glee Club blog. 'Glee is a giant ball of suck'."

Blaine saw Santana snicker to Brittany. He rolled his eyes.

"We get it, Mr. Shue," Artie called out. "Everyone still hates us. So what?"

"None of us really care," Mercedes agreed, "We're a family. They can bring it all they want. None of it is going to break us."

Blaine sees Mr. Schuester take a breath, and bit his lip. "Okay, I'm really happy that you guys have all bonded. The problem is that all of this negative stuff is keeping other students from auditioning."

"Good," Tina responds immediately. "Why do we need new members?"

"Well," Blaine said slowly, "since Matt transferred, we only have eleven members."

"That's right," Mr. Schuester nods, "and if we want to go to Nationals, if we want to beat Vocal Adrenaline, we have to go from a small rebel force to a giant _wall_ of sound!"

Rachel was the first to jump to agree, leaping to attention. "Yeah, Mr. Schuester's right, you guys. You didn't see Vocal Adrenaline at Regionals. They were epic. We're going to need more voices in order to beat them."

Finn was the second to go. "Yeah. I'm with Rachel on this one." Rachel beamed up at him.

Mr. Schuester continued talking. "Now, here's the plan. Nationals are in New York this year, and we are _going_. If they're not going to come to us, let's go to them. Let's give them the song of the year, New Directions style!"

Blaine grinned when his gaze landed on him, standing up as well and tugging Mercedes with him. He feels her roll her eyes before she grudgingly gets to her feet.

"Come on, I know exactly what we should wear for this."

"Don't worry white boy, I am all over this. We could drop by the mall tonight and get these chains I saw by that little corner shop you like to get your silly sunglasses from."

"They're not silly!" Blaine protests. "I know for a fact that you like my blue ones."

Tina runs to catch up to them, looping an arm through Blaine's. "What song are we doing?"

Blaine grins at her. "It's obvious, isn't it?"

* * *

><p>The next day, they set up in the courtyard. Blaine looks up at the steps, sees Quinn, Brittany and Santana waiting for their cue, Puck and Mercedes peeking at them from the top of the winding staircase, and sees Rachel waiting for him to make eye contact with her. A nervous, excited grin stretches his face and he nods at her.<p>

"_Bum bum bum!_"

Mike grins at him, and he starts bopping his head to the music as Rachel and Tina adds their voices. The terrified edge of opening themselves up to the wider school population faded to the back of his mind, and the music surrounded him. He leapt up from the table he had been sitting on, and lands with a momentum that swings forwards into Artie.

"_I used to cop in Harlem, all of my Dominicanos, right up there on Broadway, pull me back to that McDonald's..._"

They weave between the tables (he avoids the table bearing letterman jackets - today was about encouraging people to join, not giving them reasons not to), tables heaped with everything from food to books to piles of instruments to portable gaming consoles. There's also one table piled with bodies all encased within the stark red and white of the Cheerio uniform. There are enough of them grouped there they don't all fit on the seats, and instead of standing some have climbed to lounge on the table. Most of them are girls, but there are a few boys littered around as well. Blaine passes by them, recognising most by face (Coach Sylvester could talk all she wanted - she was like every other teacher and had her favorites) but almost stopped walking when he sees a head of coiffed hair.

Now, Blaine tried not to stereotype, but only so many straight boys even thought about hair care, less were _good_at it, and even rarer were any of them found at McKinley. The boy's back was to him, and the cheerleading uniform stretched tight across his shoulders as he bent to see where Brittany, Santana and Quinn were dancing on the steps. Blaine's walk slowed even further as he craned his head to glimpse the boy's face -

He snapped out of it when Mike poked him from behind. Breaking from the harmony to mutter a quick "Sorry!", he jumped to wheel Artie to where the others had congregated.

They finished the performance with a flourish. Blaine whipped off his sunglasses (yellow - he had more sense than to wear pink sunglasses to McKinley) and looked around, expecting... well. Something. People streamed past them, some without looking up even as they bumped shoulders with the glee clubbers.

He let out a puff of breath.

"Well, that's that," Mercedes grumbled.

Blaine smiled empathetically. "You were amazing."

"Of course I was," she huffed immediately. Then she grinned, tapping his cheek. "But so were you."

When they looked up, the courtyard had almost cleared entirely. Rachel had packed away the stereo and stormed off, a torrent of indignation pouring from her mouth as Finn trailed after. Puck had disappeared completely, and Tina and Mike seemed to be busy making out against one of the cleared tables. Blaine looked down at Artie.

"Want me to walk you to your next class?"

Artie looked like he had swallowed something that had now lodged itself in his throat. "Yeah, that'd be great dude. Thanks."

He waved Mercedes goodbye, and took Artie inside. The boy pulled his cap over his eyes, and Blaine felt a pang for him.

"I'm sorry," he offered, feeling a little pathetic.

"S'okay," Artie muttered. "I'm alright."

It was only after he had changed out of the shirt and the chains and the baggy jeans that did nothing for his height, and he was reapplying the gel to his hair that Blaine remembered the cheerleader. He paused, staring at his reflection with slik palms, before shrugging to himself.

The boy had been a _cheerleader_. Despite the apparent fashion sense, any hope Blaine had of him being someone he might be friends with were largely dashed by Sue Sylvester's blood red stamp of approval. If they hadn't been in glee club, Quinn, Santana, not even Brittany would have ever spoken to him (Brittany trying to come on to him did not count, everyone knew that), and the same probably went vice versa.

Blaine sighed as he headed towards his own locker. _This is just high school. Keep your head down for a few years, remember to hand in homework and you'll be outta here and on to somewhere better in no time. _

A corner away from his math class, two jocks with slushies in hand spring him from behind. One slams his drink into Blaine's face as the other one empties his cup down his shirt. They sprint away, laughing, leaving Blaine utterly wet and stained, the cold pressing down his spine hitting him harder than ever.

He spat out a mouthful of the sickly sweet stuff. _In no time_.

* * *

><p>"You're really not looking too good," Mercedes frowns at him over Skype.<p>

Blaine cups his tea with both hands, and offers her a smile. "I'm fine, really. I'm not even sneezing. Don't worry. I'd tell you if I was contagious."

Mercedes' face softens. "I'm not worried about you getting me sick, Bee. I'm just worried about _you_."

Blaine's smile warms, shifting from placating to thankful. "I know, really. Can we talk about something else? What was Rachel going on about today?"

A pixellated Mercedes rolls her eyes. "Oh, that girl. I have no idea, half the time. But if she really has found a good singer, she really needs to get over herself and bring her to glee club. The rest of us are busting our asses trying to get people to join up and here she is trying to scare them away!"

"More than anything, we need to beat Vocal Adrenaline," Blaine agrees, "You'd think that she'd at the very least see eye to eye about that as well. If there's someone at the school that can help us do that, we should be begging for them to join us."

"Sometimes that girl has a few screws loose. Wait, who are we talking about? This is Rachel. She is _missing_screws."

There is a beat of silence, and Blaine sees, even through the awful quality of his computer screen, Mercedes giving him side eyes.

"What?" he says defensively.

"Nothing. Just wondering what you were doing at cheerleader tryouts."

Blaine snorts. "You were there too," he reminds her, "What were _you_ doing there?"

Mercedes rolled her shoulders. "Blainey boy, I asked first."

Blaine shrugged into his tea, reddening only very slightly. He hoped Mercedes couldn't tell.

To be honest, he wanted to see if he could drop in on the cheerleaders' practice, see if he couldn't find that boy he had seen in the courtyard. Blaine had been a little freaked out by him own sudden obsession, he never knew he had it in him to be such a little stalker. Finn... well, there had been Finn, but Blaine honestly thought that he had, well, grown as a person since then.

Having Coach Sylvester spy him and then quite literally drag him into trying out - "I'm being charitable by giving you a second chance after quitting on me, chia pet, _thank me!_" - had just made things so much worse. In fact, he was so mortified at the whole situation that he had botched his impromptu sign up completely - "I am so grateful that you decided to leave when you did, you've saved me the hassle of having to throw you out myself. After pouring salt on your head to see if that would control the thing on your head better than you are now." - and wasn't quite ready to admit to even Mercedes his true intentions.

Blaine swirled his drink around. "Just to see if I last year was real. It had been interesting, you can't deny."

Mercedes made a non-committal noise. "Quinn got the spot, did you hear that fight he had with Santana? I was in the cafeteria and I still heard it." The crackling of chips being eaten travelled through Blaine's speakers. "You know, a lot happened these past few days," she mused through her mouthful.

Blaine nodded. "Finn's still in a rut about being kicked off the team. Apparently he hasn't been eating at the table. Do you know what that means? _No seconds._"

* * *

><p>The next day saw absolutely no one showing up to audition for glee. Blaine tapped a shoe against Mercedes' chair, feeling oddly resigned. It wasn't as though he had been expecting anyone to show up, so what gives?<p>

People begin leaving. Santana and Brittany march out immediately, and the others trudge out after them. Blaine looks back to Finn, looking a little lost where he stood by the piano.

Blaine paused on his way out. "Finn?" he asked gently.

"Just wait," he says stubbornly, "My buddy Sam's gonna try out. He totally idolizes me."

"Face it, Finn. You're no longer the quarterback. You're not the Pied Piper anymore." Quinn sighs. "No one's gonna follow you around thinking everything you do is cool."

Mercedes looks pointedly at Rachel. "What about that Sunshine girl? I thought you said she could sing."

The brunette blinks quickly, a smile snapping automatically onto her face. "Oh I guess she didn't want to hang out with us losers," she says, taking Mercedes' arm.

Mercedes scowls suspiciously at her before shaking her off and walking out. Blaine shrugs at Finn as he walks out after her. This was glee club, this was _their_ family. Didn't the saying go, you can't choose your family? In the case where you could, who at McKinley High would choose to be part of theirs?

He walks with Mercedes to the car park. At a little past five, the asphalt is mostly bare and he can see the tail end of Tina's car pulling onto the road.

"We're going to have to come up with something before Sectionals," Mercedes says beside him.

"We always do," he says easily. Inside, Blaine does wonder where they'll get their twelfth person from. He then tries not to think about the fact that Vocal Adrenaline probably easily has twice their numbers.

"We'll just turn up the microphones," he mutters to himself.

Mercedes doesn't hear him. "Look at that. But actually _look at that_. Who is he? I have not seen him around before, and I know Santana would've said something about that ass."

Blaine turns to follow Mercedes' gaze and sees Brittany and Santana draped over the bonnet of a black Navigator. The car's owner (it's definitely not Santana's car, and he doubts any system in the world would give Brittany a license) is dressed in a matching Cheerios uniform, standing in front of them with arms crossed and exuding disapproval. Blaine starts appreciating _that ass_ himself, before he realizes what he's doing and the blush hits him full on.

"I don't recognise many of the Cheerios," Blaine tries to say flippantly, "The red and white kind of just blur together and when you throw in peroxide hair, I just can't."

"But he's a brunette," Mercedes insists, trying to tug him closer.

"Mercedes," Blaine says slowly, amused, "Are you trying to get _Santana_ to introduce you to some eye candy? Once she finds out that you're interested she'll just trash you until you stop."

"I'm not scared of her," Mercedes bristles, but she starts walking to her own car.

"There we go," Blaine coaxes.

As they walk away, a loud laugh Blaine identifies as Santana's reaches them. Blaine fights the urge to turn around; he doesn't remember the last time he heard Santana laughing like that. Mercedes grumbles something under her breath and quickens her step.

His car is parked beside hers. They says their goodbyes and Blaine pulls away from the school, trying very hard to keep his eyes on the road.

He could act flippant all he wanted, but that boy's hair had been _coiffed_. Running his hand through his own curls, Blaine caught his own fretful expression in the rearview mirror, and bit his lip.

Oh dear.


	2. Brittany  Britney

**AN:** Was meant to post this a few hours earlier, but like. Tumblr sex riot *_*

I don't know if I hate episodes like Brittany/Britney because it gives me so little to work with here, or love it because it basically means I can prance about and do whatever I want in the chapter. A clear downside is that I get very wordy, and spend too much time inside the character's head instead of exploring interactions.

I'm hoping to update this story once a week. I've only got a few more weeks until end of year assessments are due in, and I've been trying to viciously restrain my internet usage. So far, I've been failing XD I do want to take my time with this story, because one of my biggest pet peeves with glee is their huge emotional jumps. As in, I just don't see the Blaine I'm writing actually capable of undressing Kurt with his eyes and right now I wouldn't want him to until some more ~stuff has been established. He'd terrify himself for daring to do so, hah.

**TL;DR: **

1. I think I've got a bit more direction for this story. Rating has changed to R, mostly because I swear (I write awkward awkward smut. So awkward. I'm sparing everyone, including me, from that).

2. Basically I love Santana a lot, what she is and what she could be. I may or may not have been able to filter that for this story.

3. Updates will come *at least* once a fortnight.

Lots of thanks and love to Katrina for being my beta! *squidges*

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><p><strong>2. BrittanyBritney**

Over the course of the next few days, Blaine discovered that he had managed to develop a severe case of denial. Of course, such enlightenment did not reach him until said days are over, but he decided only good could come out of such self reflection.

Blaine liked to think that the first week of school passed by with enough drama to occupy the entirety of his mind. Little to no further thought had been given to the curious new Cheerio on the squad. He may have coincidentally positioned himself closer to Brittany and Santana when sitting in glee club for numerous and all fairly vague reasons, but whenever the girls did talk it was always in whispers.

When the weekend rolled around, with only a single lunch date with Mercedes to preoccupy his mind, Blaine decided to sort through his closet. As the only child of a fairly well off family, said wardrobe was not only sizable, but varied widely in content as well. There were drawers of socks and bow ties and undershirts, there were hangers of shirts and jackets and pants; last but not least there were entire cupboards for shoes.

As mammoth a task as it sounded, by Sunday night Blaine was lying on his bed, staring blankly up at his ceiling once more without anything to do. Anything, that is, but to _think_; except that turned out to be a lot more difficult than he thought.

It wasn't like he developed crushes all the time, Blaine tried to reason with himself. And it definitely wasn't as though he fell for every boy that sent a blip across his gaydar; regardless of the fact that McKinley, or just Ohio itself, was not the first place one would think to shout openly about sexuality as though it came in more than one flavor, he _had_ been blipped before. He remembered feeling absolutely no attraction to the rare male that set it off; not the sleazy man at the bar Puck had wrestled him into last year, and not the fidgety boy behind him at the Lima Bean that time he decided to get a latte instead of his medium drip.

And it wasn't even as though he judged attractiveness in a guy on a scale of zero to out and proud. Last Blaine checked, he hadn't had any trouble crushing on the very male, very _straight_ captain of the school's football team. But if he was so desperate as to routinely crush on any boy that showed him some kindness a step above whipping him with frozen drinks, he should've tried to jump most of the AV club, the band members who turned up to glee rehearsal every week, possibly even some members of the wrestling club.

So no, that wasn't it.

To be absolutely technical, Blaine wasn't out to the general public. His family knew ("Blaine, one Halloween you wanted to be Elphaba. Blaine, you were a nine year old in Ohio, and you knew who Elphaba _was_.") and Mercedes had known, and by the end of his first few weeks at McKinley it had spread to Tina, Artie, Quinn and Santana. Blaine remembered asking out loud how on earth Quinn and Santana found out, to which he received replies varying in their degrees of pity and condescension.

"It's Quinn, babe. She makes it her job to know everything."

"Santana is like, the sex queen of gossip. She can _smell_ it on you."

"You don't reach Queen status at a public school without first knowing everyone else's dirty secrets."

"If you screw as many people as Santana, the pillow talk should help you reel in more than just the daily forecast."

By the end of his first year, all of glee club knew, though it didn't seem to spread much further than that. He was bullied and pushed and shoved like the rest of them, more so than the others because he was a boy in glee club that didn't have athletic affiliations and wasn't in a wheelchair, but the insults that came with the slushies never seemed to encompass homophobia. He didn't know why that was, exactly. Blaine, despite being the trusting person that he was, was not quite capable of believing that the glee club could keep a fact that like to themselves for very long. He had spent a far longer time at McKinley walking on eggshells because of it.

Blaine let out a strangled noise. He closed his eyes and from behind his eyelids brought forth once more a conjured profile image of coiffed hair and pale skin. Probably a sharp nose, maybe thick eyelashes...?

A shrill ringing jerked him viciously back to reality.

"You've officially lost it," Blaine muttered to himself as he crossed the floor. "Stop thinking in circles. You're going to drive yourself mad."

He dug through various pockets and managed to pick up the phone on the fourth ring. The small text on the digital screen flashed _Tina_ at him.

"Hey Tina, what's up?"

Tina's voice floated through a little high, and speaking very quickly. "Hi. I'm not bothering you, right? You're not doing anything?"

Blaine pulled a face. "I'm really not."

"Okay, because our facebook group has just passed its five member mark."

"Wait, what?"

"The Britney Spears campaign, Blaine!" Tina says impatiently, "Over _five_ members. You know what that means, right?"

Blaine begins to recall a conversation from a few days ago, buried underneath more recent thoughts of _brunettes _and _Cheerios_ and _oh, slushie_. "What does that mean?"

"It means we can suggest to Mr. Schue this week that we should do Britney Spears for this week's assignment, and have the voice of the people to back us up! I've been wanting to do her forever, I told you, she is literally the reason I wanted to become a performer. She - "

Blaine let Tina talk, managing to snicker a little at the innuendo in her words and at the same time be appalled by his own immaturity. He walked back to the edge of his bed, rubbing a corner of the sheets between his fingers.

"You know what he's most likely to get us to do though," Blaine interrupted.

"_Yes_," Tina groaned, "which is _why_ this is so important! Not only do we have a logical, famous from a young age star with a huge repertoire of music we can select from, but our generation grew up with her. If we do end up getting roped into doing that stupid assembly performances - really, it's not like Figgins doesn't know how much the rest of the school hates us, he _pays_ the janitors who clean up the slushies - at least if we do Britney it will give them something to sing along to before they collectively murder - Blaine. Blaine what the hell?"

"Hm?"

"It says on facebook that your relationship status is 'complicated'."

"What? I haven't even been on facebook - oh crap. Mercedes. _Santana_."

In his hurry to get to his laptop, Blaine almost dropped his phone. In the process of juggling it between precarious fingertips, he managed to save it in return for accidentally hanging up on Tina.

_I'll call her later_, he thought, logging onto the mindless social networking site. Sure enough, his little red notification box had jumped to a ridiculous number, and as he sat there it continued to flip higher still. On the bottom left of his screen, little rectangles of text rapidly built upon each other in their haste to grab his attention.

_Finn Hudson commented on your wall post: "Dude, I don't think that's a good idea, I mean like..."_

_Santana Lopez commented on your wall post: "I have factual evidence. My evidence is so factual..."_

_Mercedes Jones commented on your relationship status: "I swear Bee, if you have anything ANYTHING to tell..."_

_Tina Cohen-Chang posted on your wall: "Blaine, why did you hang up on me?"_

Blaine sighed and rubbed an eyebrow. As the notification counter flicked upwards, he decided quickly that he would just wait a flimsy twelve hours to sort out the mess. There is little doubt in his mind who hacked his account - it wasn't the first time - but he was damned if he knew _how _she kept getting in. He quickly changed his relationship status (back to _single_) and his password (_teenageperry_ was probably not the safest thing), then went to his email. He saw that the notification he had set to alert him when his facebook account was logged into from a foreign computer had sent him an update. He frowned down at the workstation named 'big things come in small, gay packages'.

He flipped his phone out and scrolled to Santana's number, ignoring the frantic calls and texts that streamed in on the side, calling for him to explain himself. It didn't ring for very long before a very familiar, very smarmy voice answered.

"Hello, _Blaine_."

"Santana. How you managed to make that sound so disturbing is beyond me."

"You're making me blush. What you want?"

Blaine sighed. His relationship with Santana confused him at the best of times. He preferred to not examine it too closely. "Why did you feel that it was necessary to hack my facebook?"

Santana hummed, and Blaine can almost imagine her inspecting her clawed nails. "No blood, no foul, dear hobbit. You know I really was hoping that you were calling with more urgency. My charitable streak is just sitting here stagnating."

"I can honestly say I have no idea what you're talking about."

Santana scoffed down the phone line with such derision Blaine, sitting alone in his room, actually ducked his head. "Okay, listen up, smalls. I _know _that if I have to spend another week watching your dog tail wag whenever a Cheerio uniform pops up in the corridor, I might have to set myself on fire. You reek of gay hormones, and I just want you to get like a normal teenage by and do something about it. Is that really so much to ask?"

The embarrassment and following blush hit Blaine so hard he sat down. Groping for the bed behind him, he settled with a loud exhale. _Crappity crap. Of all the people I want to notice. I haven't even been doing anything!_ He realized that Santana was expecting a reply on the other side, but Blaine's mind was white-blank with nerves and _fear_.

_It's okay_, he thought to himself. _If you really were being as obvious as the satanic witch is making it out to be, you wouldn't have made it through Thursday as easily as you did_.

"I didn't know that it looked like that," he finally managed.

"Why so serious?" she hums down the line.

"I could die from the venomous pleasure in your voice."

"Oh Blaine, your words are so pretty but you never follow through. I really wouldn't want you to die. Just because you refuse to be my fuck buddy that doesn't mean I can't still keep you around to look pretty. Though the bowties have to go."

"Santana," Blaine forced through grit teeth, "Please."

"Were you going to ask me about my new boy toy or were you just going to fantasize about everything you two could be together without knowing even his name?"

"Your boy toy?" Blaine asked quickly, "If he's straight, why would I fantasize anything about him? I don't care how high he can get his hair up, I'm not going through Finn again."

"Okay, firstly, I'm pretty sure you're not actually interested in how high he can get his _hair _up. Secondly, just because someone proclaims straightness, it most definitely does not protect them from me. Thirdly, and you should listen very closely to what I'm saying, _hobbit_: don't ever try to weasel information from me. If you want to know if the boy is gay, you come right on out and ask me to my face. You got that?"

Blaine sighed. Really, he has no response to that. Only Santana could insult him, make passes at him, and _lecture_ him all in the same breath. He doesn't even remember how he got gotten beyond the insults and passes because according to Brittany, Santana lectures were only for the important people.

"But I guess she thinks dolphins get to be people too?" she had said, wonderingly.

Blaine had squirmed for a moment then, not knowing if he should bother pointing out how dangerously discriminatory her words had been, when she then turned around and tried to get him to make out with her.

"If Santana thinks dolphins are important people too, then they really should be on my list. Please will you be the dolphin on my people list. Having a perfect record would mean a lot to me."

"Middle earth to hobbit," Santana droned over the phone.

A strange noise snorted its way up his nose. "Excuse me? What did you just say?"

"No one will believe you," she said smoothly. "Now, Blaine. I can get you into this guy's good graces. Just tell me what the information's worth to you."

Blaine tried not to scowl. This _was_ Santana. Low moral expectations, come on. "Thanks but no thanks Santana. I don't actually need you to hook me up with Sue's cheerleaders."

"Hey hey, don't stereotype us," she warned. "We're not all cruel, cold hearted bitches. Well, I am. Quinn isn't above the line either. But Britt's still a nice person."

"She didn't exactly escaped unscathed though, did she?" Blaine muttered.

"Hobbit, you seem to forget that when you speak quietly _directly into the phone_, I can still hear you."

"I will see you tomorrow Santana. Please try to stay off my facebook."

"I see you've cleared your relationship troubles, but you haven't checked your status. Oh well, everyone will think that you like it."

"Wait, what - Santana - "

"Toodles Blainey, I gotta go find myself something warm to lie with. Don't do anything I wouldn't."

"Santana!"

* * *

><p>The next time they're all face to face, Blaine found himself sitting towards the corner in glee club as Mr. Schuester introduced them to his latest perceived brainwave.<p>

"Really good music can also be controlled, and restrained. it doesn't have to attack an audience. You can let them come to you!"

Blaine almost found himself nodding along. He himself had a few easy listening songs on his iPod, stuff he listened to when he was studying, when he was trying to fall asleep, cooking... well, it was named _easy listening_ a reason.

"How can you get caught between the moon and New York City?" Finn wondered. Blaine grinned openly, and only a little because he's behind the footballer and knew he wouldn't see it. "They're like a hundred miles apart."

Blaine saw a back straightening, and swiveled his head around a second later in surprise when he realized that it wasn't Rachel. Tina's back was ramrod straight as she made her case to Mr. Schuester. He had forgotten about that.

"Mr. Schuester, it's not that we won't love spending a week on this silky smooth adult contemporary, it's just that as teens it's not the easiest music for us to relate to. However..."

Listening to Tina speak furiously in defense of Britney Spears, Blaine couldn't understand how Mr. Schuester didn't see how important this was to Tina. She so very rarely spoke up at all when not being directly spoken to; surely something that encouraged her to do otherwise should be supported? Then again, he mused, if all they did in glee club was what the students suggested, Mr. Schuester's teacher rep would probably drop even further.

Today however, Mr. Schuester was stubborn, and stood firm. "I don't think she's a very good role model."

Blaine bit his lip, debating between coming to Tina's defense and putting himself out on a useless limb. They may not understand Mr. Schuester's love for the music he loved, but most of them had mostly resigned themselves to the fact that they shouldn't get in the way of it. Though sometimes, times like now, their well meaning glee teacher would pull something exceptionally abysmal out from the foreign labyrinth of his mind that forced someone to speak up.

"We kind of grew up with her," Rachel mumbled hesitantly.

Tina gave Rachel a sort of surprised look for coming to her defense, but her support doesn't seem to throw Mr. Schuester much off track.

Slowly, as Tina's argument continued to get nowhere with Mr. Schuester (instead meeting further opposition in the surprising form of Brittany S. Pierce), a steady, lethal sort of gaze begins drawing Blaine's attention. He managed to stop his half-turn towards it. From then until the end of glee club, he had to actively ignore Santana's attempts to unnerve him.

It had taken a while on Monday to get everyone off his back about his little facebook blip, and unfortunately he could not erase people's memories as easily as he could a status ("_Blaine Anderson: has his eye on a hunk of juicy man flesh." _Really, Santana? Really?). The only good thing Blaine saw about the situation was that his fairly controlled number of facebook friends; hardly any of them didn't already know that he was gay, and no one actually knew about cheerleader boy except Santana (how on earth that still managed to be a good thing escaped him). Even up until this morning, he was still being greeted with quips of Mercedes' "Hey, Loverboy", Quinn's bemused smirk, and Brittany's "You broke my dolphin heart, Blaine. You didn't even tell me we were over."

"I'm pretty sure we weren't ever a serious 'thing', Brittany," Blaine had said nervously. "You know that my head wasn't screwed on right last year."

"I can't be a dolphin if I don't have a dolphin heart, Blaine," the blonde had pouted at him, before flouncing off. However, she had given him her cupcake at lunch, so Blaine wasn't too worried about any hurt feelings.

Later, the counselor walked into glee club with a dentist. Blaine had seen the man making rounds around the school earlier that day, but had no idea who he was. Standing in the center of the choir room, Carl Howell held up a packet of pills. Capsules. Whatever. He had a _really_ nice face. From the corner of his eye, Blaine watched Santana's back straighten. Like cat ears coming to attention, the girl absolutely _exuded_ when she zoned in on a male.

"You chew this little capsule. Now if there's any plaque you've missed, the dye will stick to it and turn your teeth blue."

The girl raked quick eyes over the dentist as he talked, but she didn't seem to be able to hold herself back for very long.

"Can I just say you're the hottest dentist I've ever seen?"

Blaine didn't quite know what to expect; a stutter, maybe. A firm reprimand. A blush? Instead, there was a casual "Yeah I get that all the time" thrown their way which sent him coughing back his laugh. Santana seemed to take it as an invitation, and actually leaned forward for more.

"No like seriously, you can totally drill me whenever - "

A shrill Ms. Pillsbury interrupted her. Blaine covered his grin with a hand. He took his capsule, not overly worried. Yeah, he could spend a few more seconds each day catering to his teeth, but overall he felt pretty proficient in his dental hygiene.

The plaque results are interesting. Brittany's teeth glow an almost radioactive blue; Artie's teeth also has a solid coating. However, when Blaine turned and saw Rachel's teeth sparkling something definitely not white, he couldn't choke back his shocked, "Oh my _god_."

"I think I would be better at brushing and flossing if I could see myself in the mirror," Artie said plaintively.

"I was pretty sure Dr. Pepper was a dentist," Brittany said, looking vaguely confused.

Blaine rubbed a hand over his face, torn between laughter and disgust. The resulting emotion made him slightly nauseous.

"I got this Em," Dr. Howell said, leaning down so that he was eye to eye with Brittany (Blaine's pretty sure he's meant to call him Doctor, even though he is just a dentist), "Some deep bleaching, a little scaling, you'll be as good as new."

At five o'clock, Mr. Schuester dismissed them, and Blaine watched a frustrated Tina storm faster than Rachel out of the choir room.

"A bit slower," he heard Rachel mutter, "Lacking the distinctiveness of a proper storm out. It's all in the _timing_." She doesn't speak any louder though, as she still had a hand over her mouth.

Grinning, Blaine shouldered his bag and headed towards the parking lot. He hadn't been slushied today either, which meant it had been one of his better weeks. The blueberry that hit him on Tuesday had stained his underwear blue, and he had yet to recover from the fear of other places staining blue as well.

Humming vaguely to himself as he walked alone to his car, (Mercedes had left early, a doctor's appointment), Blaine looked down into his bag as he fished for his keys. Without the extra baggage of sopping wet clothes, he would've thought it would be easier to find things, but apparently not.

That's why he crossed the student parking lot without looking out for cars. It was past five on a school day, and the lot was mostly empty. Under such circumstances, Blaine was not very worried about with being run over. He was proven wrong very quickly when out of no where, a car horn starts blaring right next to his hear.

He looked up just in time to leap out of the way of the black car. It passed by him close enough to bump his bag from his shoulder instead. Blaine scrambled back a few more steps, almost tripping over his own feet as the car spun to a fluid stop.

Santana thrust her body out of the passenger seat window and hung precariously with only legs still inside the car. "What the fuck do you think you're doing Anderson?" she hollered at him.

"_You _almost ran me over!" Blaine shouted back at her. He was too stunned to even realize he was shouting. His heart pounded furiously in his chest and the blood roared through his ears. "I think the real question is what's wrong with _you_!" A distant part of his mind noted the back windows being rolled down, and Brittany poking her head out to look at him.

"When a car drives at you, you move!" Santana snapped back at him, "You _puny_ thing. You can't even take on a tricycle, what makes you think you would leave even a scratch mark on this baby?"

Blaine didn't have time to respond before the door to the driver's seat opened, and a boy in the William McKinley High School Cheerio's uniform stepped out. Blaine mostly just registered the strips of red and white struck through with black, and wrenched his mouth open to give him a piece of his mind too - he could've _died_ - when he suddenly realized that this was the guy.

_The _guy.

His brown hair was again styled in that coif that had first caught his eye, and the uniform clung even better from the front. Blaine dragged his eyes quickly from the boy's body, but didn't seem to be able to fare any better with his eyes on his face. He had smooth, pale skin, and clear grey-blue eyes Blaine had rarely ever seen outside of glossy magazine pages.

_So his front was as good as his back. Good to know_. A little disarmed, Blaine realised a little too late that the boy have been speaking.

"...'m Kurt. Don't listen to Santana. I am sorry about almost running you over, though I don't think looking at the ground when crossing a car park is the most intelligent thing you could be doing either."

_He doesn't have a very deep voice_, Blaine thought. It matched his... his almost fey like appearance. _Okay, woah. Slow down, Imagination._

"I don't think you should expect Anderson to always go for the intelligent thing to do," Santana snarked from behind them.

The brunette twisted his body around without moving his feet. "Santana, shut up, get back in the car. It isn't called a car accident when you fall out through the window of a stationary vehicle, it's called _falling out of a car_."

"Bite me, Hummel."

"You don't have anything that makes me want to." _Wait. What? _

When Santana does actually retreat back into the car, Blaine felt like he'd gotten whiplash from the conversation he had just witnessed. When he turned back to the boy standing in front of him - Kurt? Is that what he said? - he found himself receiving an odd stare.

"Are you okay? You look a bit dazed. Did I actually clip you? I was sure you got out of the way."

"Oh no, no, I'm fine," Blaine said quickly, blinking rapidly and flashing a smile. He bent over and picked up his bag, examining the scuff marks from where it hit the ground. "Got my bag though."

Blaine saw Kurt's eyes light up when they touched on his bag. "That's Club Monaco."

He tried not to snap his head up, he did. But the sound of a brand name in a boy's voice sounded fantastic, and in Kurt's higher, softer register, it sounded even better.

"You know it?" he asked, forgetting to reign in his excitement. "I went out with my dad a few weekends ago, he got it as a welcome back to school thing for me."

A bemused smile crossed Kurt's face. "That's nice of your dad. If I don't make the hours at the garage, my dad cuts off my allowance completely."

The garage? Blaine thought quickly. Santana had called him Hummel. Hummel Tires and Lube? He's _that_ Hummel?

Santana chose this moment to stick her head out again. "Boys, boys. I appreciate the fact that you two may be having a rare _moment_, but hurry it up. I need to get to my house before the clock strikes twelve."

"Santana, if you suddenly turn into a closet Cinderella after midnight, none of us would call on you during the day," Kurt bit out, though he turned and began to walk back to the car.

"I keep the same hours, no matter what outfit I'm in baby," Santana called before her head disappeared once more.

"I'll see you around," Kurt said to him before he pulled himself into the car.

"Blaine!"

Kurt stuck his head out to look back at him, a single eyebrow raised.

"My name's Blaine," he clarified, biting his lip and praying to all deities that he wasn't blushing.

There's an awkward pause, before Kurt nodded, an odd quirk twisting his lips. "Blaine."

The Navigator rolled smoothly out of the lot, makes a right as Blaine watches. Santana's window is rolled down again, and she blew him a kiss. Blaine picked up his dropped keys and walked to his car.

That went well.

* * *

><p>The next day, Blaine arrived at school thumbing the scuff mark on his bag. It was the only thing convincing him yesterday really happened, and when he saw Rachel Berry strutting through the halls wearing something that could only have been pulled straight from every straight boy's fantasy, he holds it to his chest extra hard. What on <em>earth<em>. Finn ran past him and Blaine flashed him a sympathetic grin. Finn returned a helpless little wave before turning the corner after her.

"Oh Rachel. Congratulations. Normally you dress like the fantasy of a perverted Japanese businessman with a very dark specific fetish, but I actually dig this look."

Blaine frowned at the sound of Santana's commentary. He turned to find Santana lounging against the locker beside his.

"_Yay_," he said sarcastically.

"I heard she went to the dentist yesterday," Santana continued, examining her nails. "Maybe you should too."

"My teeth weren't blue."

"Do you think mine were?"

Blaine shuffled his books out. "Wait, you went to the dentist?"

She shrugged. "Britt told me about an epic fantasy she had under anesthesia, I went to see what the big deal was."

"Let me get this straight. You went and got a dentist appointment, because Britt ask you to."

Santana's eyes narrowed, and she suddenly exuded hostility. "You are such an ungrateful little shit. Here I am, trying to get your little charity case ass to feel free to get out of your own way, and what thanks do I get? None. No, screw you."

"Santana," Blaine sighed. He remembered tripping over himself to apologize to her. When had he gotten so used to Santana that that had stopped?

She ignored him, marching down the hall with her high pony bouncing indignantly after her. People scuttled out of her way as she moved. Blaine watched her go, feeling oddly repentant but with no idea _why_. If he were straight, yeah okay, he'd understand her being defensive about talking to him about her sexuality. But why was she so defensive about it when she knew who he was? _What_ he was? Even if he wasn't gay, Blaine didn't think that he would victimise her for it.

Blaine closed his locker, and headed to class. He thought about his parents, his family. His household. He sat down near the back row, a frown creeping onto his face. _Then again, with the same upbringing... it would be very hard to say_.

"Why the long face? Did you have another near death experience?"

Blaine almost ignored the voice. It's not familiar, and math had always been the one subject he never had with any of his friends. But some faint sense of familiarity makes him turn his head around, and he has to blink to make sure he's seeing right.

"Kurt?" He sounded so surprised he almost laughed at himself.

Kurt didn't seem to have a problem with laughing at him. His lips quirked up again, and he looked up at Blaine from under lowered lashes.

"Yes, that's my name," Kurt clarified for him, "and you're Blaine."

"Yes," Blaine says quite stupidly. He tries to recover. "I never realized you were in my class."

Kurt spun a pencil between two fingers. "You normally sit up front, don't you?"

"I... yes." _He's noticed me before_.

"Mixing it up today, are we?" he chuckled. It's a strange sort of laugh; Blaine can't tell if Kurt actually thinks its funny or not.

"Something like that."

The teacher walked in, but Blaine merely angles his chair a little more towards her. He doesn't pay much attention to the material being covered, but Kurt doesn't make any attempt to talk to him again during the class either. Nevertheless, Blaine felt himself straining, as though he could mentally reach out and pick strands of conversation from the air to wind around them. And okay, wow, that was a really weird thought.

He spent the rest of the lesson putting more effort into appearing to pay attention than actually doing so.

At the end of the class, Blaine packed his things slowly, which was a little hard when all he had out was a single pen and an exercise book. From the corner of his eye, he tried to watch Kurt, but when Kurt didn't move at all from his seat Blaine knew that he wouldn't be able to play it smooth. Whatever _smooth_ was.

He bit his lip, and turned to face him. "Where are you off to now?"

Kurt tilted his chin to look up at him. He doesn't try to disguise his smile. "I'm not sure. What's your next class?"

_Is he flirting with me? _Blaine thought faintly. _He couldn't possibly. I'm me. We're in first period math_. "History."

Kurt pulled a delicately disgusted face. "Oh, no, I don't think so. I'll see you around then, Blaine."

Blaine nodded, not knowing what else to say. Kurt still made no move to get out of his seat. "See you around."

He walked out of math, head spinning very slightly, and made the rest of his way to History deep in thought.

Okay, so he was maybe beginning to crush on this boy, who was most likely at least a little bit gay. It wasn't his voice, or his apparent style (muted quite horribly by Coach Sylvester's vicious red and white). It was a large part that snapping retort of his when he and Santana had been tearing into each other, and the other part was just his vibes. Kurt _was_ vibing him, damn it, intentionally or not. When Blaine looked into his eyes, he couldn't believe someone so apparently self possessed could be unaware of it.

Blaine tried paying attention in History, in an attempt to make up to himself the time he lost in Math. But somewhere during the 1840's, he found himself thinking about Kurt again. Blaine sighed a little bit, before he looked away from the blackboard and gave up, opting instead to draw loops in the corner of his notebook.

They're not going there, he decided firmly. They're not. He just met Kurt, he knew nothing about him. He didn't know why he transferred, and he didn't quite understand why Santana seemed to be his choice of company, of all people. Though if their little car park incident was anything to go by, Kurt Hummel had wits about him sharp enough Blaine could just about impale himself on if he wasn't careful.

And of course, he was a Cheerio as well. Yes, he and Mercedes had their own stint with that last year, but that hadn't lasted for a _reason_. The popularity and the immunity the uniform gave didn't outweigh Coach Sylvester's crushing... er, personality. Of course, Kurt had yet to be with the Cheerios for more than two weeks, so maybe Coach Sylvester just hadn't gotten around to sinking her claws into him.

_But you never know_, a small corner of his mind said plaintively, _he could be some sort of superhero. People can be witty and athletic and beautiful at the same time. Just, you know. Not any people that you know_.

During recess, Mercedes talked about the pair of boots her mom bought her, showing them off before withdrawing her foot before anyone could spill anything on them. Halfway through her rendition of just how close she had been to missing out on them, she suddenly stopped talking.

Blaine gave a little twitch when he noticed the silence. He looked up to see Mercedes watching him as though he had come down with something. "Hm?"

"Are you okay?"

"Just a little nervous about the performance later," he said lightly. _I am not thinking about what it would be like to be Kurt's best friend. Maybe more. Wait, no. Not that._

She gave him a quizzical glance, and Blaine felt the lie straining. Sure he was one of the quieter ones in glee club, but he'd never been the nervous type. Blaine tried to keep his face neutral, and his mind off Kurt. In fact, for the rest of the day he treated everything with only a vague sense of interest until they and the rest of the school was gathered in the gymnasium.

Mr. Schuester joined them behind the curtain as the overhead lights flicked off. Blaine smiled at him when he passed him, even when a part of him still wondered why on earth Mr. Schuester was performing this with them in the first place. He was going to be singing to _students_. Blaine tugged on one white suspender and stared at the black curtains, as though if he stared hard enough he would be able to see through them.

Principal Figgins' voice echoed back to them through the thick cloth. "...fresh off their last place finish at the Regionals, please give it up for the New Directions!"

The guitar thrummed to life. He closed his eyes. A spotlight cut through the darkness and Brittany leapt into the sudden swath of white. Blaine used the split second he had before they started dancing to scour the shadowed audience.

His eyes quickly found the small clump of Cheerio uniforms, sitting near the front and a little off center. He had wondered if Kurt would even show up, had wondered whether or not musical performances by high school glee clubs was his thing.

Apparently, it was. Kurt's eyes glinted silver at him through the dim light. Blaine breathed in once as Finn spun out onto the stage in front of him, before he fell into step as well.

"_Baby can't you see, I'm calling..._"

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


	3. Grilled Cheesus

**AN:** I am **so** sorry for how long this update took. But it is long. And I definitely have not given up on this. Hope you enjoy the update! Thank you for people who have reviewed, I love hearing from you, and again, sorry for being so, so slow. On a separate note, I actually really, really am beginning to hate formatting on here. On a even more separate note, I wrote Glee oneshot during this month-break, its posted to my lj which can be found on my profile. Not posting on here for reasons, and so if you're wanting more of my stuff, lj it is :D /selfpimping.

**Disclaimer:** Glee and all its recognisable characters do not belong to me. Unrecognizable ones probably don't belong to me either, hah.

* * *

><p><strong>3. Grilled Cheesus<strong>

Next Wednesday found Blaine curled over the sink in the boys' bathroom, mopping green slushie out of his hair. Suddenly, Finn slammed through the doors, loud and boisterous and apparently expecting the toilets to be empty when he almost tripped over him. When Blaine looked up, confused as to why he had just slapped tap water into both eyes, he saw Finn staring back at him looking just as confused. Although the larger boy did wince in sympathy when he noticed the slushie stains.

"Awww, man, that stinks. Apple's pretty gross."

Blaine made a vaguely disgruntled noise before he bent back over the sink. "It does."

Finn looked around for a moment, before he gestured awkwardly with half an arm. "I'm just gonna..."

Blaine didn't know whether he wanted to snap or laugh. A piece of ice slipped down his spine, and he bit down a yelp. "Yes, okay Finn. You do that. This _is_the bathroom."

There was a pause before Finn walked unsteadily over to the urinals. "...sorry dude."

He sounded guilty, maybe sheepish, and a little undecided at the same time. Blaine bit down on a frown, and spun the tap closed. He wanted to soap his hands, wash his neck, maybe rinse his hair directly under the water. But the situation had suddenly jumped to a level of awkward he wasn't currently able to digest. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap. Just not in the best kind of mood right now. I'll - I'll see you around okay, Finn?"

Leaving Finn looking pained, Blaine walked around to the outside of the school, stopping at the side of the building that edged the courtyard. There was a tap here that the gardeners used, and he could usually find a bucket placed nearby as well.

Puck had once asked him why he didn't use the showers in the locker room like Finn and Mike did (he managed to leave his own name out of the list of slushie-targets, and Blaine had smirked). "Puck," Blaine had said, "I don't think the jocks that slushied me would like that I was using their showers to clean it off. You guys are on the football team. I'm... different."

Blaine rounded the corner, and pulled a face when he saw that there was no bucket. He'd just have to make do then. Twisting the tap, he let it run for a while before he pulled off his shirt and ducked his head under the cold flow.

"Oh _baby_." Blaine choked on a mouthful of water. "You have been hiding from me. Never be afraid to tell Tannie you've been working out."

He stumbled a few steps backward, blinking droplets out of his eyes as he squinted up at Santana. She stood a few feet away, hand perched on a tilted hip and a slightly flattering, but mostly frightening look on her face.

"My mom makes me go to the gym," Blaine offered weakly.

Santana's glare almost had him apologizing. "That is not an appealing detail, Anderson, so I'm just going pretend that you didn't say that and just ogle you while you finish up here. Don't mind me. Hey, Britt!"

"Santana." Blaine tried to not sound too unsettled. His shirt still clung to the ends of his arms, he could feel ice melting in his hair. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to do this here if he was going to have an audience.

The she-devil tutted impatiently. "Oh don't worry, it's just Britt."

The blonde walked around the corner, her expression bright and her hair bouncing just as brightly behind her. She smiled at Blaine, not seeming to notice or care about his state of undress, and went to stand next to Santana. And Blaine would've been completely alright with that, except that someone had been walking with Brittany, a few steps behind and apparently Santana didn't have the manners or state of mind to make the distinction for him.

"I thought I heard your voice," Kurt said demurely, his eyes sparkling as he laid eyes on Santana. It didn't take him too long to notice the half naked boy dripping wet with tap water either. "Oh. Hi. What are you doing?"

Blaine turned to Santana, exasperated. Her response to him was to grin wide enough that it almost split her face. Blaine would never volunteer to Santana his crush-on-first sight feelings towards the newest Cheerio, but like his sexuality, he wasn't surprised that the girl had picked up on it anyway.

The girl flapped one hand at him, while the other tangled in Brittany's ponytail. "Hurry up, do your thing before you catch a cold."

"What thing? I'm not doing _a thing_."

"Seriously, do _not_catch a cold," she drawled. "A slobbery, mucus filled Anderson is much less appealing to me than one in tip top shape, despite the fact that he comes with a crippling side of prudishness which - "

"How was your day, Brittany?" Blaine said loudly.

"Lord Tubbington stole my lunch, even though I plastic wrapped it and tied it to my ceiling light," the blonde said immediately. "So Kurt treated me to lunch."

Blaine grinned. "That was nice of Kurt," he said, glancing at the boy.

Kurt's lips were pursed, as though he was trying not to laugh. Or frown. "She eats like a mouse," he said instead.

Blaine noticed that he was standing still, shirt hanging limply halfway down his arms and no, that wasn't a very normal way to be seen with clothes. He tossed it quickly to the ground, and cupped hands underneath the running tap.

"You can all go," he hinted heavily, hesitating before throwing the water over his face. "I'm just going to try to get the worst of this off before lunch ends."

"I'm perfectly comfortable here," Santana said smugly.

"I didn't know there was class after lunch until the teacher told me that I was getting better grades not showing up."

Some of the dye had caked to the side of his face. He could _feel_it. Blaine winced. "So there's absolutely nothing I can say to get you guys to give me some privacy?"

"Oh Blainers. You hurt my feelings. I know you'd prefer to be alone with Kurt, but _some_discretion would be appreciated."

Blaine froze, not knowing how to respond.

Kurt gave a little cough. "Santana, stop torturing him. Look, he's all embarrassed. His neck is flushing."

"His neck? Oh, give me more." She clawed her hands and arched back against the brick wall. "All the details, Hummel."

"Santana!" Blaine shouted, blushing harder when his voice cracked a little. He stole a glance at Kurt, but the pale boy stood, as composed as ever, arms crossed loosely in front of his chest and looking unimpressed.

"Why do we have to leave? I thought you liked me, Kurt," Brittany chose now to pipe up. She was pouting just a little, picking at her fingernails. "We ate lunch together."

"Sorry Britt, I told you we're just not meant to be."

He and Brittany would make a very odd pair, Blaine thought vaguely, giving his hair a quick scrub before giving up. Closing off the tap, Blaine fetched his dropped shirt and tugged it over his head. It snagged a little on his wet skin, and it took a lot more jerking around than what he felt was graceful to get the hem to meet his belt. More flustered than ever, he turned to find all three pairs of eyes stuck on him.

All three. Blaine looked at Kurt, and felt a tiny surge of... giddiness? Pride? when he saw a faint pink finally tinge his cheeks. He turned back to Brittany and Santana.

"Show's over," he said firmly. "You should go to class."

Santana waved. "Oh please. Who do you think you're talking to? We're going to Kurt's."

Blaine felt metaphorical ears perk up. "Huh. You're letting these two drag you down with them then?"

"Hardly. I transferred from a more... selective school. I'm not missing out on much."

There was a beat of silence. Blaine stopped himself from picking at his own nails. What was he meant to do? Did he invite himself along (he _wanted _to)? Did he excuse himself (it would be _easier _to)? What?

The bell shrilled through the air, and Santana took it as her cue. "Okay then, nice chatting. Let's go. Hummel?"

"Bye Blaine!" Brittany chirped.

Blaine gave them an awkward wave, and Kurt followed the two girls away. But he stopped walking just before he turned around the brick corner.

"Do you want to come?"

Blaine blinked.

Kurt wrinkled his nose. "Wow, okay. I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that. Go to class, Blaine. I'll see you around."

"See you around," Blaine echoed.

He watched Kurt walk away. Blaine frowned, rubbing an elbow as he headed towards his locker. He'd never skipped class once in his life. He couldn't believe that the urge to was surfacing now, and could believe even less the reason why it was.

He couldn't believe that he didn't even manage to reach the front entrance before he spun around and sprinted in the other direction.

Despite being fairly little, Blaine could still run pretty fast. He caught the three cheerleaders just as they were getting into Kurt's Navigator. Santana cocked an eyebrow at his presence, Kurt looked at him blankly as though he had forgotten his invitation.

"I... I changed my mind?" Blaine panted. Just because he _could_sprint, doesn't mean that he was fit for it.

"Sure," Kurt said after a pause. "Get in."

Blaine waved in the opposite direction of the car park. "I drove to school today."

"Follow behind us then," Kurt said, picking keys out of his pocket. "I'll wait for you out on the street."

"Okay," he agreed. "Okay. Just give me a sec." He spun around, thanked every lord that his wallet and keys were in his car and not his bag (inconveniently locked away in his locker), and walked with quick steps to his car. He managed to not fumble the keys, or rev his poor engine. He managed to pull out of the parking lot completely, without lingering once on what in seven hells he was doing.

* * *

><p>They drove at a decent speed to the garage. Blaine bit his lip as Kurt parked and the three figures clad in red and white slipped easily out onto the pavement. Wouldn't Kurt's father be here? What would he think? Did he care that all four of them were skipping out on class? Was Kurt's dads one of those who just didn't care about what their kid did, as long as they didn't get picked up by cops?<p>

Dizzy with his own questions, Blaine parked carefully behind Kurt, getting out and locking his doors before walking to where the three of them were waiting. Kurt was holding a brown paper bag, and avoiding looking at Santana.

"My dad's probably working in there," Kurt said, "Don't mind him if he starts interrogating you."

"And them?" Blaine asked, gesturing to Brittany and Santana.

"He's used to them," was the reply.

Blaine had never been to the garage himself; there was that time he rebuilt a car with his father, but the parts had always been piled neatly in their yard. He had had a sneaking suspicion that his father didn't want him walking into a garage knowing absolutely nothing about anything, and being completely obvious about it. His mother had told him that he was far too cynical.

Now, as he walked into Hummel Tires and Lube, some things surprised him. He was expecting the cars and car parts hanging off almost every single smooth surface, but he wasn't expecting it to be so_clean_. Surface tops that didn't shine were covered in cloth, tools shone silver in the afternoon sun, and the air felt light in his lungs. There were a few people wondering around in typical blue coveralls but even they looked washed, or new. And the space itself was _huge_.

Kurt's voice rang through his absorption. "Hey, Dad."

He was talking to a man standing underneath a cranked up car with all four wheels removed. Like the other workers, he wore the same dust-blue coveralls, topped off with a cap and a pen in his teeth. "Hey, that's my boy."

When he turned around, his gaze settled almost immediately on Blaine. A small crease formed between his brows, and Blaine set his teeth on his lips again.

Kurt walked to perch gingerly on the table beside the man. "You forgot your breakfast. Suzanne Somers says that skipping breakfast is suicide."

Blaine looked around. Brittany had gone over to look at the wall of tools hanging on the wall, Santana had already flitted off to hover around one of the younger employees. The boy look slightly flustered, blushing at the attention.

"Who's this?"

Blaine turned around to see Kurt's father nodding his head in his direction. He cleared his throat, preparing to introduce himself, when Kurt interrupted by waving the paper bag he hand in hand in his face.

"This is an egg white wrap on a sprouted wheat tortilla, half a grapefruit and a green drink."

The older man was still side-eyeing Blaine, but peeked into the package anyway. "Couldn't you just bring me my usual breakfast?"

"A Coke and two Slim Jims?"

"Yeah. Breakfast of champions."

"Dad, you are not a kid anymore. You have to start taking care of yourself."

Kurt's father frowned at him, then frowned at the paper bag. "Well, I guess with enough hot sauce, this will be all right. Thanks. Now if you'll stop changing the topic, who's this?"

They both turned to Blaine. The perfect timing of the head swivel forced Blaine to see their similarities. The eyes, and nose. Hair as well, probably, if Kurt's father had a bit more for the comparison. And there was that same unsettling heaviness to their gaze, somehow proving itself to be hereditary.

"This is Blaine," Kurt offered. "Blaine, my dad."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Hummel." He didn't stutter, which was good.

"I didn't know that you were bringing boys to the garage."

"Dad, my god."

"Alright, alright. Nice to meet you Blaine." He stuck his hand out, which Blaine took. He was fully expecting to retrieve a bruised hand, but the pressure remained civil.

"Mr. Hummel!" Brittany bounced over with a spanner in her hand. "Is this one new?"

"Yeah, it is. You're getting better at this."

Blaine looked at Kurt. Kurt shrugged and walked to find Santana. Trailing after him, they left Brittany and Mr. Hummel to talk.

"Brittany does motocross," Kurt said as way of explanation.

"Your dad doesn't mind you skipping school?"

Kurt twitched. "He does mind. But it's gotten better lately, so he minds a bit less."

"You skip a lot?"

"_Used_to."

A laugh managed to sneak past his disapproval. "Why?"

Kurt flicked him an impatient glance. "Because the classes are too easy, the teachers are boring, and I get more information slammed out of my head by neanderthals turning up to class, than I do actually absorb if I just skip and read the material elsewhere."

Blaine opened his mouth, but found that he had no response to that. He wondered if, being a Cheerio, Kurt was still treated like that at McKinley.

They kept walking (crap, this place was just... _enormous_enormous) and it took a while before they found Santana stuffed into a car that had been jammed between two more, with a suitably flustered boy pinned underneath her. Kurt rapped sharply on the windshield.

"Brendan, I _will_get you fired."

The boy squeaked, and Santana rolled her eyes. She shifted her body so that he could squeeze past her without her actually having to leave the car, and glared up at Kurt.

"You are such a boner killer."

"This isn't your den of iniquity."

Santana paused, appeared to roll the phrase around her mind. "Huh."

Blaine leaned over to whisper conspiratorially in Kurt's ear, "I think you're putting ideas into her head."

"I think I am."

They ended up all piling into the car, which apparently had broken headlights and a problem with the back wheel. Kurt was in the back behind the driver's seat, leaning against the side window with one leg drawn up to his chest and one stretched out along the floor, foot almost underneath Blaine's seat. Santana was leaning against the opposite window, her posture mirroring Kurt's. After a lightning quick hissing match, her leg had settled over Kurt's. Brittany had come looking for them, spanner clutched in hand. Now she sat perched between the two, crouched on the center seat like a bird. Blaine sat sideways in the front passenger seat and watched the three of them. They looked... cosy. They _fit_. Somehow.

Kurt and Santana bickered quietly about the Cheerio uniform, and Blaine watched on with a vague smile on his face. Brittany was silent as well, resting her chin on her knees and blinking owlishly at him. Just as Santana started accusing Kurt that his real issue with polyester was actually his increasing inability to hide his flaming homosexuality, Brittany cut through the both of them.

"Why are you here?"

They both stopped talking. Santana looked at Brittany, who was looking at Blaine. Kurt looked at Brittany.

Blaine shifted uncomfortably. "Huh?"

Brittany tilted her head. "Kurt's never _invited_anyone here before. Why are you here?"

"He's invited you two here," Blaine said evasively.

Brittany shook her head. "No he didn't. Santana just got into his car one day and I followed her. We wanted to see where the new Cheerio lived. He tried to get us to leave but she wouldn't, and he wouldn't actually throw her out of the car."

"Britt," Santana said quietly. The blonde continued, oblivious.

"And so he just drove us here instead. His dad got angry at first. That was weird, and a bit scary. Santana almost started shouting back at him, but Kurt stepped on her foot. Mr. Hummel told us to go back to school. But Santana kept jumping into Kurt's car and he still wouldn't take us to his house, so we kept coming here. Mr. Hummel's used to us now, and Kurt's used to us now, but why are _you_here?"

The ensuing silence was deathly. Brittany looked at Santana's frozen face, Kurt's carefully blank one, then back to Blaine. "I didn't know I wasn't allowed to ask that." she whispered to the Latina.

"It's okay," Blaine said first. He was sure that he was the one least entitled to say so, but the other two didn't really seem to know what to say either.

"Hey Britt, let's go have a talk over here," Santana announced suddenly. She opened the car door and slid out backwards, somehow managing to remain grace in the process.

Brittany followed her, using both arms to lift herself out. "What are we talking about?"

"Remember that time I said you couldn't tell anyone what we were doing in your bathroom? Do you remember the reason why I - "

She slammed the car door shut, cutting off the rest of their conversation.

Blaine watched the girls walk off, their skirts snapping sharply left and right with the momentum of their hips. He turned tentatively back to Kurt, biting his lip.

"So."

Kurt had turned to face the forwards, arms crossed and both feet on the floor.

"So."

Blaine tried to interpret the look on his face. "Are you... okay?"

"_What_? Of course I'm - I'm fine." A flush crept up his face, and Kurt rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Okay, honestly. Just. _Spit it out_. What do you want to know? I can literally see the questions exploding behind your eyes. You'll probably jump me if I don't answer."

Blaine was affronted. "I'm not trying to attack you. _You're_the one that told me to come along."

"I have no idea what I was thinking," Kurt bit out.

"Why are you getting defensive?"

"Is there something I should be getting defensive about?"

Blaine sucked in a deep breath, and hung on tightly to his patience. "Well I guess I know now why you get along so well with Santana," he muttered.

"I don't think you know the first thing about me and Santana, otherwise you wouldn't ever say that we get along _well_."

"You're both vicious enough to survive being one of Coach Sylvester's Cheerios, you're probably _both_ closet gays, you're both so highly strung with emotions that you decide to just choke it all with this massive rope of indifference and bitchiness instead, and you're both defensive as _fuck_. Did I miss anything?" Blaine snapped. Then he bit his lip, leaned back as everything he just said sunk in. He had swore.

"You swore," Kurt said lightly.

"Yes, okay, thanks for noticing, that was all that I expected you to take away from that."

"And you say I'm defensive."

"_Kurt_, for the love of..."

The brunette lifted clear eyes to him, and looked tired. "I don't know why I invited you. I was curious, I guess. It was mostly on a whim. Santana doesn't mind you, that alone made you interesting. And then I realized that you actually were as much of a prude as she said you were. I didn't believe her at first, you know, because she likes you well enough."

Blaine didn't know whether or not he should pull a face. "Santana... likes me?"

Kurt waved a hand. "Like, as a pet or something. I think only Britt gets human affection from her."

They fell into a soft sort of silence. It was okay, but then Blaine realized that he was listening to Kurt breathe, and suddenly the space became a bit too small.

"What happened with Santana?"

Kurt made an impatient noise. "_I_don't know. She saw me after Sue made me audition for the Cheerios, and found out I made the squad without a tryout."

"She's known for disemboweling people based on that alone."

Kurt shrugged. "She tried to give me the whole intimidating speech. Which was strange, I thought at first, but then you see that her personality is certainly enough to make up for the insecurities she had that made her get a boob job."

Blaine blinked at him.

"You didn't know? Oh. Well, _then_she realized she couldn't just psych me out, so I guess she found me interesting instead. It was kind of a curse and a blessing at the same time. I may have been the new kid, but you can't do shit to someone who's both a Cheerio and Santana's new plaything."

"I can't imagine how you went from that to being _close_."

"Santana's an acquired flavor. I guess she'd say the same about me."

"But on that basis you would've only known her for two weeks. Did you two know each other before you transferred to McKinley?"

A sharp rap on the windscreen made them both jump. Mr. Hummel was standing on the side of the car, looking firm as he jerked his thumb as a sign that they should get out of the car.

"Another time," Kurt said.

Blaine thrilled at the fact that Kurt wanted to continue the talk. "Another time."

They stepped out of the car, and Kurt's dad gave Blaine a searching look. Blaine didn't say anything. He felt like those eyes could just pull any defense right out of his hands. Not that he had done anything wrong. Why did Kurt's father make Blaine feel like he'd done something wrong?

"Kurt, I think it's time your friends went home."

Kurt nodded silently, and walked past Blaine, clearly intending for him to follow. They went to fetch the girls, who they found curled up in a corner, Santana watching Brittany angle the silver spanner in a line of sun so that the light hit the roof.

"Time to leave," Kurt called.

Brittany looked up, and Santana took the spanner. "Already? Can we come back tomorrow?"

Kurt shot a glance at his father, and Blaine watched the frown form on Mr. Hummel's face.

"Not tomorrow," Kurt said quickly.

"We have glee club," Blaine reminded her when the girl opened her mouth again.

"Oh," Brittany pouted. Then she spun around to face Kurt. "You could come to glee club with us!"

Kurt stared.

"Yeah, Kurt," Santana finally smirked, "Come to glee club with us."

Kurt looked at Santana as though she had lost her head.

"That's decided then! Kurt's coming to glee club!" The blonde skipped to her feet, and pulled Santana up too.

"Thanks, Mr. Hummel," Santana said, handing him the spanner. Blaine almost balked; did Santana just say _thank you_?

"Before it gets dark," was all the mechanic said, taking the tool from Santana and walking off. "Kurt."

Kurt sighed, and waved them off. "Brittany can get you home Santana. I'll see you guys later."

"Or Blainers can give me a ride." Santana wagged her eyebrows at him.

"Get in the car," Blaine sighed. The girls linked pinkies and skipped off. Blaine was just about to follow them, when he noticed Kurt and his father's voices getting louder.

Against his better moral judgement, Blaine slid forwards, hiding between cars until he was close enough to hear more clearly the conversation that was going on.

"...didn't expect you to be adding to it."

"It's just the one time, Dad. I'm not starting a club here."

"I hope not. I don't just let you _hang out_ in the garage kid. This is where I work, I'm in charge here. You keep slacking off school, and coming here, what am I supposed to say to them? They think I'm not being a responsible single parent, that I'm letting my kid run wild with two girls dressed in skimpy cheerleading outfits. What does that say about me Kurt? I can't tell them that because we're new here, I can't trust that you're safe anywhere else just yet. I can't tell them the reason that I'd rather you here than playing hooky somewhere else until_ you're_ready to."

"Alright, Dad, I'll go to school tomorrow," Kurt muttered.

"That's what you said last week about today."

"_History_, Dad. They make you take History here with a teacher that probably got her degree from a garage sale."

"Kurt, school isn't just about how much you want to turn up. It's about taking responsibility for yourself and showing your teachers, and showing me, how you can be trusted to do the right thing, even when you don't want to."

"But I'm a _teenager_, Dad. That's what they do, right? They skip class and fail tests and get grounded because they think they have better things to do."

"Why did you say 'they'? Look, Kurt. Showing up to school, staying in class, doing _well_shows me that you're changing, that you're growing up well. The whole point of this move was for you to do that, wasn't it?"

"I always do well."

"You think I don't know that? I'm the one that has to go to your parent teacher interviews and have all your teachers tell me either how brilliant you are, or how they're convinced you're secretly cheating on every test. But one thing they all agree on is that you are far too arrogant about it. I need you to care more, Kurt. About the people around you, enough to treat them properly. About yourself, enough to treat yourself properly. How can I trust you, if you can't even manage to do that?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm not about to start acting like a frigid old man just because of what happened, alright? I'm going to do stupid things, and skip class, and probably wait till it all comes to bite me in the ass before I manage to work out these things for myself. Probably when I'm around twenty."

Blaine pressed his forehead against the cool metal of the garage door. When he heard soft footfalls heading towards him, he ducked away quickly to his car, but a last line drifted to his ears before he was out of earshot.

"I got to tell you, Kurt. I'm real disappointed in you."

* * *

><p>The next day, Blaine felt slightly jumpy. He sat through English and Geography without feeling much of his interest being pricked. He shared lunch with Mercedes, and jammed a little with Tina and Artie during a small space of time they had before glee club started. He even talked to Quinn, which had the girl's eyebrows rising, although she was polite enough. When glee club finally did start, almost everyone was giving his odd, jumpy behaviour questioning looks, though the attention was diverted from him when Santana and Brittany strode in, Kurt caught between their elbows and dragged bodily into the room with them.<p>

Quinn tilted her head. "Santana..."

"No questions," the girl snapped. Brittany nodded firmly as well, her ponytail bouncing. They crowded the boy into the seat behind Blaine, then sat on either side of him.

Everyone was looking at them, confused. Kurt looked impatient and restless.

Mercedes leaned over. "Isn't that Kurt Hummel?"

Tina leaned over from his other side, "What is he doing here?"

Blaine didn't have a chance to answer - he didn't really _have_one - before Finn cleared his throat and Mr. Schuester walked in. The tall boy drew the rest of the attention as he jumped up and walked with too long limbs to the center of the room.

"Mr. Shue? I have something to say. Something happened to me, and I can't really get into it, but it's shaken me to my core."

"Oh my God," Puck said in a stage whisper, "he's coming out."

Finn grinned widely. "Why, yes, there is a man who's sort of recently come into my life." Blaine wondered where this could possibly be going. "And that man is Jesus Christ."

_Wait. What?_

Puck gaped. "That's way worse."

Finn continued blindly, not seeming to notice the looks he was drawing from around the room. "And I know there's others in here who dig him, too. And so I thought, maybe this week, we could pay tribute to him in music. You know, pay tribute to Jesus."

"Sorry, uh, but if I wanted to sing about Jesus, I'd go to church. And the reason I don't go to church is because most churches don't think very much of gay people." Everyone's heads snapped around, including Blaine's. "Or women," Kurt continued, his face still but intense. "Or science."

His arms were folded tightly over his chest, and he was determinedly not looking at anyone. Blaine looked at Santana, feeling like he needed confirmation that this really was Kurt speaking. She shrugged, though didn't quite manage to cover up her surprise either.

"Good job, Hudson," she brayed instead. "The only time we manage to recruit someone into this friggin' club and you manage to piss him off not five minutes in with your newfound _religion_."

Mr. Schuester was looking at Kurt as though he had three arms. Mercedes broke the silence. "I don't see anything wrong with getting a little church up in here."

"I agree," Quinn added demurely, "I've had a really hard year, and I turned to God a lot for help. I, for one, wouldn't mind saying thanks."

Santana snorted. "Thanks for what? That it didn't come out a lizard baby?"

"Whenever I pray, I fall asleep," Brittany mumbled.

Mr. Schuester interrupted. "Well, guys, maybe our song selections don't have to be about Jesus. We could do songs about spirituality. But before we continue, who's this?"

Everyone's heads swiveled to look at Kurt again.

"This is Kurt Hummel, he is my new accessory, he goes where I go. The end. Berry, weren't you about to say that you had something against this?"

Puck snickered. Finn heated up, turned to his friend (Blaine assumed they were still friends. It was hard to tell with those two). "You got a problem with Jesus?"

Puck shrugged. "Oh, I got no problem with the guy. I'm a total Jew for Jesus. He's my number one Heb. What I don't like seeing is people using J-money to cramp everybody else's style, 'cause it seems to me that true spirituality or whatever you want to call it is about enjoying the life that you've been given. I mean, I see God every time I make out with a new chick."

Someone behind Blaine made a strange noise. Normally, he'd pin it on Santana, but with Kurt there now he just wasn't sure.

Rachel did the honors instead. "Okay, okay, that doesn't make any sense. In fact, it's stupid."

"Are you calling Mr. Billy Joel stupid? At this time, I'd like to continue my streak of doing only songs by Jewish artists." Puck leapt out of his seat, grabbing a guitar as he passed Finn. "Hit it."

During the ridiculous performance, Blaine snuck a look at Kurt. The boy was looking supremely unimpressed, which only made Blaine laugh harder. Kurt turned his head at the noise, and caught Blaine's eye.

_Seriously?_said his cocked brow.

Blaine, feeling strangely bold, leaned over and pulled Kurt out of his seat. He didn't coordinate it very well; they ended up stumbling into Quinn. Realizing that was not the best way to go, Blaine pushed Kurt between Santana and Brittany instead, where the boy stood looking awkward as the rest of glee club danced around him for the rest of the song.

It was a perfect moment, really. It remained so until just before the last chords of Puck's song ended, when the soft steps of a slight person almost went unnoticed as she stepped into the room and very, very quietly, called out Kurt's name.

Kurt turned around first; Blaine, who had been keeping an eye on him, turned as well.

Ms. Pillsbury, her startled doe face matching her twisted hands, kept it short. "Kurt. Can I talk to you outside?"

* * *

><p>Kurt didn't show up to school the next day. Blaine spent the Friday and the following weekend agitated, restless. He drove to school Monday, eyes peeled for a black Navigator. When he saw that the black car was absent, he knew that he would have to either stop caring, or seek out Santana.<p>

By the time lunch rolled around, Blaine had yet to lay eyes on Santana, but the rumors had hashed through most of the school. Gossip was gossip, and the Cheerios were definitely not exempt. The details however, left much to be desired.

_"His dad's sick, he's been looking after him at home."_

_"I heard that he had family in hospital, he's been spending all his time there."_

_"There was a hoist at the garage, his dad got shot."_

_"Someone trashed his house, he's been helping repaint."_

It took Blaine longer than necessary to track down Santana. He had an idea that she was hiding from him, but the idea that _Santana_ would hide from _anyone_was ridiculous to him.

He waited for her outside the gym. From where he stood, could hear the Cheerios practicing, and Coach Sylvester's heckling. He waited through the pauses where he tried to imagine what was happening: someone bruising from a fall, someone retching _almostthrowingup_. When the doors finally slammed open and the boys and girls in uniform streamed out, they were all smiling strangely, like pins had been hooked onto the corners of their mouths.

Blaine snagged Santana's arm as she walked out with Brittany.

"Not now," she snapped as soon as she saw his face.

"I just want to - "

"_Not now_," the girl snarled, tearing her arm away.

"Then when?" he shouted after her. He turned heads; he didn't care. She ignored him anyway, and with quick, furious strides was out of sight. Brittany had stopped walking a few feet in front of him, looking lost. Santana called her name sharply. She gave Blaine sad eyes before turning to follow.

"Brittany, wait," Blaine caught her arm. "Just tell me if Kurt's okay."

Brittany's voice was soft but sure, and unhappy. "He's not. We haven't seen him at all, but I know that he's not okay. His dad is in hospital and he's not waking up. I made him a card that said 'heart attacks are just from loving too much' but he hasn't been at school so I haven't been able to give it to him."

Blaine's feet felt leaden. He let her go, and she padded after Santana. The thoughts cropped up automatically - _it'll be okay, it'll be fine, believe that he'll pull through this_- then died as they ricochetted off the walls inside his head. Like a camera shot that had suddenly zoomed out out, Blaine felt infinitely small.

_I don't even have his number._

* * *

><p>It was simultaneously the <em>most<em> he'd ever done to try and show that he cared for someone, and the _creepiest_.

Blaine had gone to the garage, found the boy Santana had been molesting in the car and blackmailed his way into getting the boy to sneak him into Mr. Hummel's office. He really cared about his job.

It hadn't taken long for Blaine to root through some of the files before he found a home address. Writing it down with a ballpoint onto the back of his hand, Blaine capped the pen and carefully returned the bill to its drawer.

It didn't take much longer for him to drive down to the right part of town, located the street, then number six. He recognized Kurt's Navigator as he pulled up behind it, walked up the driveway of the house (decently sized for a family of two) and stopped at the doorway.

What was he doing?

Blaine bit his lip, and knocked on the door. He hadn't even brought flowers, or a card, or, hell, he didn't know, _chocolate_-

"Blaine?"

He blinked at the open door, and saw Kurt standing there. He looked... wow, okay. He knew it was inappropriate, but Blaine was not expecting Kurt to look _good_. Out of the Cheerio uniform and in tight, tight black jeans, covered in a plain white shirt with buttons open at the top and a vest that smoothed it all down, he looked like cut paper. The only thing that showed the stress was his eyes, rimmed from crying; shining now with surprise and expectancy.

"I," he started, "I just - I heard what happened and I just, I wanted to know if you were okay. Santana wouldn't say anything and I didn't want to just go and _swindle_information out of Brittany and I just thought maybe you'd like someone to - well, not being presumptuous, but - "

"Blaine," Kurt interrupted.

"I really don't like the thought of you cooping yourself in a big house by yourself, and so I just came to see if you wanted some company. I should've brought flowers," he finished lamely.

Kurt barked out a dry laugh.

"That wasn't meant to be a joke," Blaine muttered miserably.

He felt Kurt's eyes lingering, so he dropped his gaze to the doorstep. Kurt's shoes were clean, polished, looking vaguely branded but Blaine couldn't quite pull the name from his head.

"I'm going to not ask you how you got my home address," Kurt finally said, "and invite you in. Promise you won't rob me."

"I'm not - !"

"_Blaine_," Kurt said again, a quirk to his lip.

Shutting up, Blaine followed Kurt into the house. It was a fairly typical house. Living room on the right, dining room on the left, connect to the kitchen with a toilet and second bedroom down the hall.

He took a seat on the couch. Kurt had wondered off into the kitchen; Blaine could hear him, clinking mugs and opening the fridge. But apart from Kurt's tinkering, the house was silent. There was no music playing, no TV noise. And it was very _clean_, for place that a teenage boy seemed to be living alone in for almost five days. Blaine rubbed his hands up and down his legs, feeling suddenly nervous.

Kurt appeared in the doorway, walked to put a laden tray down in front of Blaine. "I made some tea, but then I realized that you might want coffee instead so I brought that too. I don't know how you like so I made it black and brought some milk and sugar. If you just want water though, that's alright too. Just say the word."

Blaine found a little comfort in the thought that Kurt was nervous too. "Kurt," he started nervously. _What was he in a position to say?_Kurt sat at an angle to him, settling his hands on the knee of his crossed leg. He paused mid-motion to lean forward again, reaching for a mug he cupped between both hands before settling back once more.

In the following silence, Blaine tried to fill his head with things he could say. They all seemed small and trivial, and completely unhelpful.

"Could you tell me what's happened? If you want," he tacked on at the end.

Blaine wasn't sure if Kurt was going to answer him. But then he took a deep breath first and closed his eyes. "He had a heart attack, brought on by an arrhythmia, which caused a lack of blood flow to his brain. That's what made him lose consciousness and what's keeping him comatose. They have him on lidocaine, but there's no guarantees its going to work or what kind of damage has already been done to his brain through the lack of oxygen."

He sounded like he was reciting from a shopping list. His voice was so bland it made Blaine cringe.

"You don't know when he's going to wake up?"

"If," Kurt corrected softly, so softly Blaine almost didn't hear it.

"If?"

"We don't know _if_he's going to wake up."

And _that_ was when it hit Blaine. Through television and stories heard secondhand, the seriousness of heart attacks had been _normalized_ to him. But people Mr. Hummel's age didn't_ die_from them. Not the man he saw only a few days ago, so healthy and inherently strong, speaking to Kurt like they were equal on all levels.

"Kurt... Kurt, have you been living by yourself since Thursday?"

He doesn't look up. "I have to leave the hospital before six, otherwise the nurses get suspicious. I don't want them calling up someone for me to stay with. I told Ms. Pillsbury that I could live with an aunt."

"Kurt." More urgently this time. "I don't think its good for you to be staying here alone."

His eyes, so blue in this moment, snapped up to glare at Blaine. "I'm perfectly able to take care of myself."

Blaine shifted back on the couch. "I don't doubt that, I don't. I just... I don't think you should be alone."

Kurt sniffed and turned his head away. Blaine looked down, not knowing how to react when Kurt clearly did not want him to. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again to say, "I don't have other family in Lima, Blaine."

"Relatives that live - live nearby - "

"Stop, okay? Stop."

Blaine paused before he spoke again. "You need help."

He made sure to pull enough quiet and calm and absolute surety around himself before he looked up, to ensure that he could face Kurt's contempt without flinching. He was right, he knew he was right. Kurt could act cold and untouched all he wanted, but Blaine wasn't a Santana associate without being just a little clued in himself and in this world, at their age, there was hardly such a thing as being cold and untouched.

"The only help I need is the medical kind," Kurt finally said. "They're not doing enough that that hospital. All they are doing is waiting around for an unconscious man to decide for himself between life and death, as if he had the awareness to even scratch his head for the thought."

"I'm sure the doctors have tried everything they can without further risk - "

"God, you sound just like them. You know what? Bedside manner does not help when it's your dad lying on that bed. It just makes you sound like you couldn't care less."

Blaine's heart tried to detach itself from him and fly to Kurt, but his brain caught it and tugged it back. His voice stuttered in his throat. "Y- you can't ask for more sympathy from the _doctors_, Kurt. They wouldn't be able to do their job if they got hysterical too. Imagine having to break your heart every single day over watching someone else's family fall apart. They _do_care. It probably just hurts too much, to care too much."

The silence was long before Kurt broke it with a laugh, as though Blaine had just told the most _awful_joke in the world but winning that title in itself deserved something in return. But when he looked up, his eyes were soft. "I must sound like a baby."

"No! No, Kurt." Blaine almost rose out of his seat. "I just think... you should get out of your own head for a bit. It's not healthy."

Kurt's eyes flickered up to meet his again. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Blaine echoed. _Screw it_. He reached across the yawning space, and put a hand over Kurt's. It was mostly fingertips around knuckles, but Blaine still had to fight a spurt of embarrassment. "Come to school tomorrow, okay?"

Kurt drew his lower lip into his mouth. "...okay."

* * *

><p>"I don't think this is a good idea."<p>

"_Rachel_."

"No, Blaine, just hear me out. Kurt clearly doesn't appear to be much of a religious person, and come to think of it I didn't think you were much of one either. But that aside, I don't think that Kurt will be able to appreciate this gesture right now, regardless of how heartfelt your intentions are."

"Rachel, just go with it, will you?"

"I clearly am, despite my doubts. Why else would I be here?"

"Oh, _I_ know the answer to that one. You're here because the idea of someone doing a group performance without you being lead - even when it's a personal, _private_performance - is so utterly indigestible to you that you invite yourself along."

"Santana, don't start anything. He'll be here any moment now."

"How you managed to do this without Mr. Schue finding out is beyond me."

"We do _talk_outside of glee rehearsal, Puck."

"And it's not like Mr. Schue is the brightest. He'd have to walk in on us before he noticed something."

"Guys, quiet. Here they come."

Brittany bounced through the choir room door with Kurt, showing him a brightly colored, clearly handmade book and thrusting it into his hands. "I did a book report on heart attacks, if you want to give it to the doctor. I got knocked down an entire letter grade 'cause it was written in crayon."

Kurt looked up when he realized that there were people in the room. Blaine watched the emotions - surprise, curiosity, worry, skepticism - flit across his face before clearing his throat and standing up.

"Kurt, I just wanted to show you that if you would only ask, there are people who wouldn't mind being here for you. A few of the glee club members have put together a song for you."

Kurt's hands gripped Brittany's little book so hard the paper buckled under his hands. "What song?"

Mercedes stepped forward. "_I Look to You_. We don't know each other very well Kurt, but we've run into each other a few times before. You've never made me feel bad about myself, even when so many Cheerios have. It made you stand out to me, and made me want to do this for you when Blaine asked."

Kurt, tight lipped, let his eyes touch briefly over all of them before he shook his head. "Thank you, Mercedes. Your voice is stunning, but I don't believe in God."

"Wait, what?"

Blaine closed his eyes. He could feel Rachel's eyes boring into his back, but refused to acknowledge her. Kurt, in the meantime, had clutched Brittany's drawings closer to his chest and bowled ahead.

"You've all professed your beliefs. I'm just stating mine. I think God is kind of like Santa Claus for adults. Otherwise, God's kind of a jerk, isn't he? I mean, he makes me - " Kurt stopped, catching himself. "Right now I don't want a heavenly father. I want my real one back."

There's a resounding silence in the room. Mercedes gave Blaine a half frightened, half disappointed look - who exactly was she disappoint at? - before turning back to Kurt.

"But Kurt, how do you know for sure? I mean, you can't prove that there's no God."

"You can't prove that there isn't a magic teapot floating around on the dark side of the moon with a dwarf inside of it that reads romance novels and shoots lightning out of its boobs, but it seems pretty unlikely, doesn't it?" Kurt snapped.

Brittany did not help the rising tension in the room. "Is God an evil dwarf?"

Quinn finally spoke up, her voice tight and hurt. "We shouldn't be talking like this. It's not right." Blaine had been surprised when she offered to help, but as a Cheerio she'd probably spent more time with Kurt than he had.

Kurt lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry, Quinn. You all can believe whatever you want to, but I can't believe something I don't. I appreciate your thoughts. But I don't want your prayers."

"Kurt." The brunette had turned and walked out of the room. "Kurt, wait."

Blaine caught up to him in the corridors. He reached out to grab his arm, but Kurt spun around before Blaine's fingers even brushed his elbow.

Kurt tore out of his grip with a cry. "I'm sorry, I know you probably went to a lot of trouble with arranging that, but _Blaine_. I've already told you I don't believe in God. If there is a God, he can't just make me gay and then have his followers going around telling me it's something that I chose. As if someone would _choose_to be mocked every single day of their life."

"I'm sorry," Blaine blurted. "Really. I just... I just thought that you could take this figuratively."

Kurt shook his head. "This isn't... I'm sorry, Blaine. Thank you, but I can't listen to that. I don't need - _that_- right now."

"Lady."

Both their heads whipped around. Blaine was extremely surprised to find Coach Sylvester standing behind them, arms crossed and leaning casually against the lockers. Casual in the same way sleeping lions were casual. Blaine turned to see a curious expression on Kurt's face. It seemed wary, yet at the same time, almost... _happy_.

"Coach Sylvester."

The tracksuit clad woman walked closer, arms swaying against her sides. "How's your father?"

"They say his condition is critical but stable. Good news, I guess."

There was a way only Sue's favored Cheerios could talk to her that no one else could. Well, Sue's favored Cheerios and Quinn. Blaine had always been inexplicably scared of the woman; being in close proximity to her with hardly anyone else around only heightened the feeling. Kurt clearly did not have his issues.

"I'm sorry for what you're going through, Lady. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. And I guess I don't have to. I think Mary Lou Retton's, like, an orphan or something." Kurt snorted. "I don't like what Schuester's doing in that classroom even more than usual. But I can't go to the school board without an official complaint from a student."

Blaine's mouth fell open at the suggestion. Appalled, he turned to Kurt, but was blindsided once more when he saw that the brunette looked intrigued rather than shocked.

"So you want me to be your scapegoat?"

"No. You don't understand." She turned to Blaine. "I know at times I mess around with you guys for fun. I admit it, it aids digestion. But I'm not joking here." She turned back to Kurt.

"I want to be your champion."

* * *

><p>Things were a mess. Blaine knew they were a mess, but he wasn't quite sure how he was going to wade in and fix it.<p>

The glee club was... they were furious to come under censorship. When it happened their first year, it had almost ruined them. To have it happen again, and through one of their own - Blaine had debated not going to glee club that Thursday. Bravery, or bull headedness, was never his strong point.

As Thursday came, and even Mercedes deigned him traitor enough to not meet him in the parking lot that morning, Blaine felt the little courage he had managed to gather dissipating. He hated that he could be peer pressured like this, but without Santana there, instigating in him the strange kind of strength that allowed him to snipe back at her, and without Kurt there, making Blaine feel like he needed to be better than he was to _impress_him, it was easy to go back to slinking around the halls. It was easy to be a wallflower.

It boiled to a point sometime between the bell ringing for last period and glee club. The sun sent deep rays piercing the windows, shattering bright and orange against the walls. Blaine tugged his bag over his shoulder and stood in the emptying hallway, head turned almost longingly towards the choir room. He hadn't taken one step in its direction before Ms. Pillsbury burst from around the corner, charging past him.

Her sensible heels hit the floor with a sound like a drum beat, and without a thought Blaine followed her as though she was leading a parade. She twisted with a single minded fury through the school halls, straight to Coach Sylvester's office. When they passed the blinds, Blaine started at the sight of Kurt sitting primly opposite the Coach. What -

They bursted into the room. Kurt turned bodily and raised an eyebrow at him. Coach Sylvester looked vaguely amused. Blaine shuffled to stand next to the wall as Ms. Pillsbury marched up to the Coach's desk. "What is wrong with you?"

Kurt stood, walked over to stand by Blaine. The slight woman continued, ranting with a passion usually hidden behind her shyness.

"This boy might lose his father. How could you get in the way of that, when the only thing anybody is trying to do is give him just a little bit of comfort? What happened to you, Sue? Please tell me what horrible, horrible thing happened to you that made you such a miserable tyrant?"

"Have a seat."

Miss Pillsbury startled, freezing like a deer. Kurt leaned over and pushed her gently forwards with a palm, down and into the seat he had been in a moment before.

Coach Sylvester looked as unflappable as ever, looking over her steepled fingers at the counselor. She kept still as she talked, reminded Blaine again of a lion. "Since I was a little girl, I've had exactly one hero. My big sister. You know how much I worshipped her? She was the sun and the moon to me. And while I was still very young, I noticed that other people didn't feel the way I did. People were rude to her. They were cruel. They laughed at her. And so I began to pray. I prayed every night for her to get better. And nothing changed. So I prayed harder. And after a while I realized it wasn't that I wasn't praying hard enough... it's that no one was listening. Asking someone to believe in a fantasy, however comforting, isn't a moral thing to do. It's cruel."

Blaine wasn't breathing right. Kurt stood beside him, completely still. Ms. Pillsbury's voice was rigid. "Don't you think that's just a little bit arrogant?"

"It's as arrogant as telling someone how to believe in God, and if they don't accept it, no matter how openhearted or honest their dissent, they're going to hell. Well, that doesn't sound very Christian, does it?"

"Well, if that's what you believe, that's fine. But please keep it to yourself."

"So long as you do the same. That kid could lose his father at any moment." Blaine watched Kurt for a reaction to that flippant statement, but the boy's face was impassive as ever as he listened to Coach Sylvester continue. "You should start preparing him for that. Now get the hell out of my office. I realize you're only half orangutan, but I'm still very allergic to your lustrous ginger mane."

Miss Pillsbury did as she as asked, her outrage throttling her kindness, her kindness not allowing her outrage to speak any more against this woman who was doing what she was from a place of real, cruel hurt. Blaine and Kurt stayed where they were, frozen and quiet and hoping desperately that Coach Sylvester had not forgotten to give them their cue to leave as well. She was staring at the notes on her page when she spoke.

"When we were little girls, Jean was perfect in my eyes. And I watched the world be cruel to her."

Blaine shifted. He didn't want to move, just needed to do something to break from their awful tension. "Do you want me to pray for you, Coach?"

Kurt looked alarmed. Sue scoffed, turning her head to look out of the shuttered windows. She closed her eyes.

"Yeah," she murmured, almost to herself. "That would be nice."

After another lull, Kurt wrapped fingertips around Blaine's elbow. "Coach."

Her eyebrows pulled together. "Oh, leave. Go home. Lady, remember that you can overdose on hairspray and you're not allowed to die yet. I need you for Nationals."

"Roger that." Kurt wheeled Blaine out of her office, didn't stop walking until they were a few corners down where he dropped Blaine's arm like it was diseased. "What are you _thinking_?"

"What?"

"How the hell did you get the counsellor, the talk to her too loud and she might cry _counsellor_to yell at Coach Sue? Are you really that desperate to convert me, Blaine? Are you so very worried about my soul?"

"I didn't do anything, Kurt." Blaine's hands clenched at his sides. He hadn't come here to blame Kurt, he really hadn't. But his assumption, and accusations, hurt. Hurt a bit too much. "Unlike you, who not only shut down all gestures of goodwill near strangers were willing to offer you, but also threw it all back into their faces by getting a freaking ban placed on them. I hope you're happy, Kurt."

"Having the week of my life, actually. And I have every right to speak my mind."

Blaine saw the tense line of Kurt's body, arms wrapped around himself and bent forwards. He sighed. "Look, Kurt, I'm sympathetic to what you're going through, but siding with Coach Sylvester isn't going to do anyone any good."

"It's doing me some good." Kurt said coldly. "Now I don't have to sit around listening to all you mental patients talk about how's there's a God when I know there isn't one."

Blaine blinked at him, seeing for the first time the untouchable Cheerio the others did. But he also could feel an anger simmering inside, a passion he thought he had lost long ago. "I'm sorry you feel like we're attacking you. I guess it's hard to see the genuine concern behind people's actions when you're being smothered by their religious overtones."

Kurt turned, walking away. "I need to go."

Blaine sighed, rubbed his head and jogged after him. "Kurt, wait. Kurt!"

Kurt was surprisingly quick on his feet, had pushed open the doors to the school by the time Blaine reached his side. He reached tentative fingertips out to touch the boy's shoulder.

"I know you're upset about what's happening, I get it, but friends help out, even when you don't ask.

Kurt stopped walking, closed his eyes and breathed through his nose. "I don't know why I'm saying this, but here goes. Blaine. My father is the only person, the _only_person that I have." His eyes on Blaine were blue, sharp and stunning. "He's not just immediate family to me. He's acceptance and love and my only port in a storm. So please excuse me, if I'm being a little sensitive about this."

"Mr. Kurt Hummel?"

Blaine jerked around and stared at the diminutive woman who had appeared from nowhere to stand at Kurt's side.

"She's a Sikh," Kurt explained tightly. "I told her to meet me at the school and I'd drive us to the hospital. She's going to see if acupuncture will improve the circulation to my dad's brain. Amazingly, needles pierce the skin better than psalms."

Blaine let his hand fall. "I'm just trying to help."

He didn't think that that would make Kurt stop, but it did. Kurt stopped with fingertips hooked around the handle of his car door. He watches Blaine for a while, before his face softened.

"Thank you," he said. "I'll see you later, Blaine."

"Later," he echoed. He watched Kurt get into the car with the acupuncturist, the itchy feeling of needing to do something but not quite knowing what scratching at his insides.

* * *

><p>It hits Blaine a little later the next day, what he needs to do. If he got Kurt to join glee club, if he got the cheerleader to understand what they were <em>about<em>, he wouldn't feel the need to be so... stubborn about the ban. Satisfied with his plan, Blaine made sure to pass by Mr. Schuester's office first (regardless of the man's teaching plans, he still had jurisdiction within their club) before going to station himself at Kurt's locker. He was surprised to see Santana there already.

"Hobbit."

"Santana."

"What are you up to?"

He leaned against the other side, folding his arms. "I'm not up to anything."

The girl stared at him, derisive. "The only time you have the balls to talk to Hummel is when you've got a dialogue planned out beforehand. What are you up to?"

Biting down on his flush, Blaine shook his head. "I want Kurt to join the glee club."

Santana blinked at him, as though he had spoken in a different language. "Okay, I'm going to have to get you to run that by me again. Did you just say you wanted our almost orphaned little boy to wade into the incestuous, religious sharkfest that is our glee club? I can attest to the fact that he is one tough nut to crack, but I'm pretty sure New Directions right now is quite able to deliver that fatal blow. They wants as much to do with him as he does wanting to associate himself with glee club."

Blaine felt his jaw hanging open. "Um."

Santana leaned back, crossing her arms.

"Okay, what is this?"

Blaine turned to see Kurt, both hands strangling the strap of his shoulder bag staring at them both. He stopped walking a few feet from them, his eyes pale and wary.

"I want to talk to you," Blaine started.

"Whereas I just want to break into your liquor cabinet. Which idea sounds more fun?"

Kurt scowled. "Blaine's, actually. You're a bitch when you're drunk Santana."

Blaine's head flitted around to catch Santana's reaction. "Shut the fuck up! At least I'm not a shrill, puke-happy baby."

Blaine inserted himself bodily between the two before the argument escalated further. Suicide was the best word to describe getting into a Cheerio spat, but he moved without thinking.

"Kurt, I need to talk to you," he stressed, pressing one arm back to restrain Santana and getting nail marks in his shoulder for his trouble.

"Fine. I can't get to my locker anyway, as it's currently being guarded by a_ screaming harpy_."

"Stuck up _prude_!"

"_Prude_ isn't an insult Santana, not when the cure is being a _whore_."

"Okay!" Blaine grabbed Kurt by the shoulders and steered him bodily into the next classroom, Santana snarling abuse at them as they went. A group of people were huddled at the corner of the room, books upon and apparently having a meeting of some sort. They looked up when Blaine entered, confused.

"Um, could you please give us a moment?" Blaine tried tentatively.

They looked at each other, not moving.

Kurt stepped up until his knees touched the edge of the table, and leveled them all with a stare. "I don't understand how you could have possibly taken that as a request. Actually, I do, this boy is impossible. But unless you want me to turn up here at the exact same time next week but armed with water pistols loaded with liquids far more unmentionable than water, I will strongly suggest that you all leave. _Now_."

Blaine stared. This... this was hard to get used to, this snarling, vicious Kurt that sent all four students scurrying, dropping papers in their haste to move. With the attitude, and the uniform to back it up, Kurt was - Kurt was a Cheerio. One of Sue's finest.

He turned around when the room had emptied, faced Blaine with cool eyes. "Did you want to say something?"

Yes, yes he did. But Blaine couldn't for the life of him remember what it was. He deviated instead. "You're not on very good terms with Santana?"

"I can't be bothered to tell her how much of a bitch she's being all the time. Today just happened to be one of the times I did."

"Kurt," Blaine said warily.

"What? It's true."

"This..." This isn't you? How would he know? Blaine's known him three weeks.

"The other day, she got Jacob Ben Israel to buy some condoms. Do you know how worked up that sad little boy got? And then, in the cafeteria in front of half the school she called him out on it and hooked up with Jeffery David instead."

"The hockey player?"

"The hockey player."

Blaine rubbed his arm absentmindedly. Kurt was... okay, he was surprisingly cute when he ranted. "Do you feel sorry for Jacob?"

That stopped him short. He shot Blaine the look that sent four teenagers scurrying. "The _hell_, Blaine. The boy's a creep."

"Then why are you using him as an excuse to rip into Santana?"

"I don't need an excuse to rip into Santana."

"So you say, but you used it anyway."

Kurt paused, then frowned at him. "You are really very annoying."

Blaine laughed, a short, surprised burst of sound. "I'm sorry?"

Kurt pursed his lips, and shook his head. "What were you going to say?"

"Oh. Right. I think you should join glee club."

Kurt gave him a look that reminded Blaine eerily of Santana. "Excuse me?"

"I think that the reason you're being so defensive about atheism - I'm sorry, but defensive is the only word for it - is because you think that by singing religious songs to you, we're trying to convert you. That's not it, Kurt, it really isn't. It's just the only way that we know how to communicate this feeling through song. Mercedes, and the others, their choices are pretty much between that and singing song of romantic love and comfort to you. It's the same as nodding when people thank you in a different language. It's not part of your culture, who you are, but you can appreciate the gesture anyway, can't you?"

"What are you?"

"I'm - what?"

Kurt waved a hand in Blaine's general direction. "What religion are you? What do you believe in? You wouldn't be pushing this at me at all if you were atheist, and you probably wouldn't be trying if you were agnostic either. So, what are you?"

"I'm Christian."

"Why?"

Blaine faltered. "What?"

"Why are you Christian? Do you believe in their God? Do you believe in their bible stories? Sure, you were baptized when you were an infant, raised in the faith. But do you honestly believe in Creation, and the apple and the snake?"

"I - "

Kurt continued, ruthlessly. "Oh and, I'm sorry if I'm being presumptuous, but I thought you were gay. You do know what the Church thinks of gays, don't you?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then how can you stand there, being you, and believe in the same God as those people, people tell you that you shouldn't exist?"

Blaine honestly doesn't know how to respond. Partly because no one had really ever directly asked him the question _Why are you Christian?_He was baptized, yes, and he goes to church on Sundays with his parents. And he was raised being told the stories form the Bible. Eden, Jesus walking on water. Judas and the breaking of bread. But he realized, now, that that's exactly what he took them as. Stories. Not scripture.

"I..."

Kurt made an inelegant sound. "Didn't take very much to change your mind." He pressed on, without waiting for Blaine to comment. "And your parents? We can't possibly leave them out. I don't doubt that they're upstanding Christians. What happened when you came out to them, then? Threw you a party? _Thanked _god?"

"Kurt, stop."

To his surprise, Kurt did stop. Blaine took a deep breath, closing his eyes when he didn't manage to do it without shaking. "I am very grateful for my parents, and all they've done for me despite everything that's... happened." Kurt's eyes flashed. "Regardless of what I figure out for myself, I'm not going to ask them to stop believing in God for me, and especially not because other humans have added stipulations to the basic concept of faith. Besides, religion is a _human_concept, don't you think its a little ridiculous to ask humans to give up on it?"

Blaine expected Kurt to continue to press. He waited, but to his surprise the other boy only watched him with a careful gleam in his eye.

"I still think you should join glee club," he continued conversationally. Kurt raised an eyebrow. Blaine and took Kurt's lack of interruption as a good sign. "You don't really know what we do there, most of the school doesn't, which is probably why you're saying no. If you saw - if you saw how much we really do care about each other, you'd want to be a part of that."

"What if I don't want to be cared about?"

A little breathlessly, "What?"

Kurt looked sour. "What if I don't want to let a bunch of gossipy strangers into my life? You may see glee club as your family Blaine, but I definitely don't see it as mine."

"I think - I think you should give us a chance."

"I did. And you tried to shove Jesus down my throat."

"Kurt, I just said - "

"Okay, stop." Kurt walked to the door. "This isn't going anywhere. I turned up once, so I'm not saying this unfounded. I'm not interested Blaine."

"You'd think you'd be curious about the people who even Santana doesn't mind having around."

"Santana likes little sheep who she can chase down like a wolf, then turn around and lean on when she needs them."

"You don't mean that," Blaine said quietly. "She's not like that. She needs a home, just like the rest of us."

"I have a home."

"Not right now, you don't." Crap. He hadn't meant to say that.

Kurt looked hurt, and angry, but also - embarrassed. The hot flush colored his cheekbones and Blaine mentally kicked himself for noticing. His eyes flashed as he walked to the door. "Fuck you, Blaine."

For the second time, Blaine sprinted to catch him, but this time he managed to catch him before he left. "Kurt, please."

"Let go of me," he snapped.

"Just come, just one more time."

"No one in that glee club wants me there."

"Brittany might."

"Yes, okay, thank you," Kurt replied dryly. "That's lovely. Of a measly club of ten, only the blonde cheerleader who would sleep with the entire football team wouldn't mind my company."

"I'd want you there."

Okay, Blaine really needed to find his filter because clearly it had clearly decided to take the rest of its life off. The pause that came next was too long.

"Um."

Blaine laughed awkwardly. "Just... Kurt, you're blowing up at Santana. You're smart enough to know that that won't really do any good. Just come to glee tomorrow, if anyone heckles you or makes you feel uncomfortable, I'll treat you to dinner at Breadstix."

Kurt's eyebrow raised again. Blaine never knew he could feel so judged by half a facial feature. "I'm fairly capable of defending myself, thank you very much. And if that was your underhanded way of swindling a date out of me, I'm going to have to label you as being highly inappropriate."

Blaine's face bloomed a matching red. "Thats - "

"Okay, if I'm going to be spending any amount of time with you, you're going to have to get used to my sense of humor. Not that your stumbling about isn't cute, I just never know if I've actually hurt your feelings."

His blush flamed hotter, but he determinedly ignored it. "Does that mean you're coming?"

Kurt's cool eyes did nothing for his blush. "You are so annoying."

* * *

><p>In exchange for not sniping at Kurt, Blaine had agreed to let them ignore him, him and his cheerleader friend sitting beside him, arms crossed tight across his chest and looking as though he would scratch the eyes out of the next person who gave him side eyes. Brittany took his other side. Santana had parked herself next to a confused looking Finn, and a rabid looking Rachel.<p>

Mr. Schuester started the lesson as though he couldn't feel the tension snapping through the air. "I know things have been pretty morose around here this past week, but I want to celebrate some good news for our little family. Let's hear it for Finn on getting back his quarterback job and leading the Titans to a win in their second game of the season!"

Puck snorted. "Yeah, too bad that Sam kid had to have his arm basically ripped off for it to happen." Finn grinned nervously, but Blaine could see - for some reason - that the boy really was worried about the accusation. He relaxed when Puck continued, "But it's good to have you back in the saddle, brother."

"Mr. Shue, if I may?"

Everyone's heads turned to Blaine.

"Yeah?"

"Kurt," He nudged the boy hard in the shins, "would like to sing something." He got everyone's attention with that. Blaine hadn't told any of them that Kurt would be singing.

With all the grace of a swan cutting through water, he rose from his seat, stepped down the rise their seats are arranged upon and positioned himself in the center of the room. Blaine hid a smile behind his hand when Kurt flicked his head back to level every person in the room with a flat stare.

He willed Kurt to not start off defensive. They hadn't really talked about how Kurt was going to introduce himself; Blaine didn't even know what song he was going to sing. He doubted that Kurt would've let him dictate anything to him though - so perhaps it was better this way.

"Um." Pause. "I wanted to thank everyone for your kindness, and queries about my dad. For your information, his condition remains the same. Apparently I need to express myself," exasperated glance at Blaine, "so with your permission, Mr. Schuester, I've prepared a number for the occasion."

"Of course, Kurt."

Pause. Breathe. Blaine stared at Kurt, and wished he could send him courage. He didn't have much to spare, but Kurt was so strong, he wouldn't need much anyway, not of Blaine's thin weak courage.

"This is for my dad."

The first lines of music was slow - Blaine almost didn't recognise it. But it had been a while since he had seen Across the Universe. For the smallest spaces of time Blaine worried about how good Kurt was at singing - but then his cue came, he opened his mouth, and Blaine didn't worry anymore.

_Yeah I'll  
>Tell you something<br>I think you'll understand_

His voice trembled, and it tweaked a little higher than the usual register - but it was strong. It was good. Kurt was good. Blaine sat, feeling the song thread right through him and thought, I have to hear him sing again. Kurt couldn't get through the whole song without his tears spilling over, but not even Puck called him out on it.

Blaine felt his heart pulse in time with the guitar beat.

_And please  
>Say to me<br>You'll let me hold your hand_

A hundred times he's read the phrase and his breath caught in his throat, but only now did Blaine realize the little tug of pain that came with it. The pressure of not breathing and something much closer and sharper cutting into the side of his heart shot through the utter devastation that was Kurt singing with his heart raw and bare in front of all the glee club.

_I wanna hold your hand  
>I wanna hold your hand<br>I wanna hold your hand_

When he ended the song on a sob, the noise jerked Blaine out of his reverie. He took a quick moment to look around, and sat back satisfied. Even Rachel had her mouth hanging half open, her face an unfamiliar mixture of awe and heartbreak.

Mr. Schuester was the first to break the silence, his slow clap startling everyone to attention. "Well - I don't know what to say! Kurt, that was... that was really something. I didn't know you could sing like that."

"Not a lot of people do," came the clipped reply.

He returned to his seat, and caught Blaine's eyes as he sat. They kept each other's gazes until Brittany poked him in the ribs.

"Mr. Schuester is talking and I can't see him over your moon eyes."

Blaine flushed. This color was not good on him. "I'm not making moon eyes."

"Yes you are," Santana said loudly.

"Santana!" Mr. Schuester barked. Blaine stared. How did she even hear that? The girl rolled her eyes, recrossed her legs and faced away from them.

When Mr. Schuester dismissed them at five, Blaine stayed back with Kurt.

"That was really, really - that was amazing. Your voice is amazing. Why did you pick that song?"

Kurt picked, irritated, at a loose thread in his uniform. "My mom used to hum it to me."

"Oh."

Kurt looked up at the pause, smiled ruefully. "I would say that it was a good memory, but I guess I've gone and ruined that too." He took a deep breath, slanted his head sideways. Blaine felt his head tilting to match. "On the day of my mom's funeral, when they were lowering her body into the ground, I was crying. I mean, that was it. It was the last time I was ever going to see her, and I remember I looked up at my dad and I - I just wanted him to say something, just something to make me feel like my whole world wasn't over, and he just took my hand and squeezed it. And just knowing that those hands were there to take care of me... that was enough."

Blaine swayed on his feet, making his knees knock gently against Kurt's. Kurt looked up, and only then did Blaine realize how close they were standing. This close, he could pick out the dizzying swirl of color that were his eyes. This close, Blaine could smell his hairspray. Precious, fragile boy hiding all this - all this feeling and when it came out it brought even Quinn Fabray to tears. Kurt looked up at Blaine form beneath his lashed, then angled his head higher and -

"Guys, can I talk to you for a second?"

Blaine turned to see Mercedes hovering in the doorway, looking unsure. His smile hitched on its way out, surprise and unrest flickering around the edges. But he did take the chance to step away from Kurt. "Mercedes, what's up?"

She smiled tentatively back, eyes flickering to Kurt. Blaine wanted to remind Kurt to be nice. The boy's face was bland enough, but he looked encouraging enough. She took a deep breath. "I... I was really touched by your song. I know you're going through a really scary time right now," she turned to Blaine, "but I feel like I don't know how to be around you anymore." Blaine opened his mouth, an apology ready to tumblr from his lips, but Mercedes held up a hand. She turned back to Kurt. "I know you're not really spiritual or whatever, but I feel like you're closing yourself to a world of experiences that might surprise you."

Blaine snuck a look at Kurt, tense. The encouraging look his face had gone, replaced by a mask. He held his breath, ready to apologize for the both of them - "You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be pushing people away, especially when they're being as sincere as you."

A shot of surprise and glee warmed Blaine to his fingertips. His grin stretched his face wide enough he knew that it made him goofy as he looked back and forth between Kurt and Mercedes.

She smiled as well when Kurt offered her a quirk of lips. "Do me a favor. One thing." Kurt nodded, slowly. Blaine could tell that he was naturally suspicious of open requests. "Come to church with me this Sunday." She hurried on at the sight of Kurt's expression. "Our church does this thing where we dedicate the service to someone, and I got them to dedicate this Sunday to your dad."

Blaine looked down; Kurt's knuckles were white. "I don't know."

He nudged his shoulder with his hip. Kurt looked up. "You get to wear a fabulous hat."

There's a tense pause - Blaine panicked, at Mercedes' speculative gaze, and the flit of sudden panic across Kurt's face. But he smoothed it over once more, and gave him a look of long suffering. "You had me at fabulous hat."

Blaine laughed, and it felt good.

* * *

><p>"I'm very impressed with everyone's Sunday best."<p>

Blaine shot Kurt an amused look. "It's so Christ-chic."

Kurt smirked back. "I hope our genuflection to the great Spaghetti Monster in the sky don't take too long. My Sikh is coming again today at 2:00 to do more acupuncture on my dad."

"Is it working?"

"...Not yet. Nothing is."

Mercedes leaned into their conversation, pecked Blaine quickly on the head. "I have to go be with my choir."

She stuffed them into a pew far too small for the two of them before ditching them both to stand in front of the singers arranged up the front. Blaine let Kurt take the aisle seat, frowned a little when he felt how tense he was.

Mercedes took her place in front of the microphone. "Hi, church."

Blaine smiled when everyone around them responded immediately. When he turned to see Kurt's surprised-but-not-impressed expression, the smile blew into an all out grin.

Mercedes continued. "I have a favor to ask you guys. My friend Kurt Hummel's dad is in the hospital, and it's pretty bad. I know we have all of our own worries and troubles, but if we could just put them aside and focus all of our prayers and give them to Burt Hummel, and to my friend Kurt."

"Friend?" Kurt asked quietly. Blaine stopped himself from jabbing him in the side. He did nudge him with his knee. Kurt grumbled something underneath his breath, but settled.

Then she turned her general address to look Kurt squarely in the eye. Blaine tensed. She hadn't told him that she was going to do this. Mercedes spoke a little faster, as though scared that Kurt may actually leave, or interrupt her before she finished talking.

"I know you don't believe in God, and you don't believe in the power of prayer, and that's okay. To each his own. But you've got to believe in something. Something more than you can touch, taste or see. 'Cause life is too hard to go through it alone, without something to hold onto and without something that's sacred."

She closed her eyes and let out a breath. When she opened them again, she was smiling. "Anyway, Kurt, this song is for you."

Blaine turned to see Kurt's hands fisted neatly over his knees. His eyes stared ahead, tight and unblinking. He bit his lip as the organ sounded its first notes. He closed his eyes.

_Don't trouble the water.  
>Give it up, why don't you?<em>

Without thinking about it, without overanalyzing, Blaine touched fingertips to the back of Kurt's hand. The brunette flinched visibly, but after a second, looked up from his bowed head to meet Blaine's eyes with a softly apologetic smile.

_When you're down and out, when you're in the street,  
>When evening falls so hard... I will comfort you.<em>

"Relax," Blaine murmured. He slid his hand more firmly over Kurt's, fingers moving to slot into the spaces between his to clasp his hand. "We're all friends here."

For a moment, Kurt looked at their joined hands like it was a mutation. Blaine, determined, gave it a tight squeeze, releasing the pressure only when his hand began to cramp.

_I'll take your part, yeah  
>Oh, when darkness comes<br>And there's no one, no one you love around  
>Just like a bridge over troubled waters<br>I will lay me down_

Then, as he relaxed his hand, Blaine could feel Kurt relaxing with it. The line of their shoulders that had been pressed together now felt like Blaine was leaning against someone alive and breathing, instead of a rigid plank of wood. Kurt wasn't smiling, but his face had softened into sadness. Just sadness, without the anger and fear.

Blaine turned to look at Mercedes. She was beautiful up there, and she was staring at them. He gave her a smile, and hers was a thousand times brighter in return.

_Like a bridge over troubled water  
>I will lay me down<em>

* * *

><p>"Why did you come today?"<p>

They were back at Kurt's house. The silence seemed less stifling, this time around. As though Blaine was now recognized as a friend here, not a stranger. Or maybe you're just going a little bit crazy. Houses don't have feelings.

"I thought you wanted me to come."

Blaine turned to look at Kurt, reigning in his raging and inappropriate imagination. "I did. I thought you should give Mercedes a chance, and I'm grateful that you did. But I still want to know why you did it."

Kurt was quiet for a moment. Blaine tilted his head, and watched him pick at a nail. When Kurt looked up again, Blaine was still watching. He gave him a rueful smile.

"So honest," he said softly.

"What?"

Kurt shifted in his seat, and met Blaine's eyes with a steady gaze. "You're so... honest. Open. I guess going to church, with your friend - with Mercedes - was my way of trying to say thank you. To you."

Blaine opened his mouth, but closed it when he realized there was nothing he could say. It's not like he was about to say, that's alright.

"What were you thinking about in the car?"

Kurt made a vague sort of noise.

Blaine didn't want to seem pushy, but Kurt had been more open to him today than he had been all week. Month. Entire time they had known each other.

"I'd like to know," he said quietly.

Kurt was silent for so long Blaine was sure that his window to the inside of this boy's head had closed. He picked at his nails, watched Kurt stroke fingertips through the material of a side curtain.

"I remember our first Friday night dinner after Mom died," Kurt began shakily. "He tried to make a chicken."

Blaine tilted his head; less pushy than a smile and warmer than a nod. Kurt looked vaguely annoyed at having found grease spots on his fingertips. He plucked tissues from the box on the stand, cleaned them off.

"I guess he wanted me to feel like there was something still normal. He put it on the table, and he cut into it, and... it was raw." A smile flitted through his face, as accidental as a split, and for a moment it is bright enough to blot out the sad. He wandered over and sat on the seat opposite Blaine's. "And we both looked at each other for a second, and cracked up before we remembered that we weren't supposed to yet."

Blaine was very still. He partly expected Kurt to keep talking, but mostly he just didn't know what he was expected to do. He'd never been in a situation like this before. Nothing quite this serious and make him want to care as much as he did, yet at the same time terribly impersonal. Blaine did not know Burt Hummel, had not even met the man for longer than a few minutes. But even in those few moments... Mr. Hummel was not the average parent, and his relationship with Kurt only expounded that fact. Watching Kurt now, without that support, with the forever sense of that support having been so suddenly and viciously ripped away from him, Blaine pulled and pulled from his memories of consoling Mercedes when she couldn't come to his house in the break, or Tina's very recent problems with Mike Chang (what if I'm not popular enough for a football player?), but he came up with nothing.

It was only then that Blaine realized, in this unmarked territory, the only rules he needed to follow was that of instinct. He stood quietly and walked to stand in front of Kurt. He used one knee to nudge open Kurt's legs, sidling to stand between them until his shins pressed against the seat. Sitting, Kurt had to angle his head to meet Blaine's eyes, too wrung out to even quirk an eyebrow. Blaine doesn't see Kurt's reaction when he leans forward, wrapped arms around his shoulders and pressed his forehead to the side of Kurt's head.

"You're not alone," he said fiercely. And your dad will be okay.

Kurt's arms hung limply at his sides. A moment passed, and then Blaine felt the hot press of tears seep through his sleeve, onto his shoulder.

* * *

><p><em>If God had a name, what it would it be?<br>And would you call it to his face,  
>If you were faced with him in all his glory?<em>

And what would you ask, if you had just one question?

...just trying to make his way home.

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


End file.
